


The Rift

by aniscribbles, TheSpace_Dragon



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe- Dragon Age Inquisition, Dragon Age Universe, Elf Pidge, Everyone will show up eventually - Freeform, F/M, For the most part, Inquisitor Lance, Lance is a flirt, Lots of sexual tension, M/M, Mage Allura, Mutual Pining, Near Death Experiences, Qunari Hunk, Rating may go up, Seeker Keith, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Templar Shiro, but keith is tenacious, character injury, fic art, haggar is his underling, he knows he looks good, im so hyped for this, its M for safety right now, its really mild, keith is thirsty, kinda angsty, lance is also really stubborn, lmao i think thats all of the tags for this, one of them, or at least it will be mentioned periodically throughout the fic, slight gore, the beginning is different, will follow the inquisition timeline, zarkon is the big baddy at the end
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-10-01 16:45:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10194215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aniscribbles/pseuds/aniscribbles, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpace_Dragon/pseuds/TheSpace_Dragon
Summary: After the Conclave blew up in everyone's face, the whole world went to shit. Lance didn't know what to make of it, but there was no way he would join the Inquisition to become their tool. Sure, he could close the rifts now, by some miracle - accident in his humble opinion - and he was doing his best to close them on his own. Trouble was, they were getting worse as time went on. After being tossed by a shade, he was seriously reconsidering doing this by himself. Needless to say, he got lucky that a cute Seeker came to his rescue after getting caught in a dragon's nest; the only problem was that cute Seeker was trying his damnedest to recruit him into the Inquisition.





	1. Fereldan Frostback's are a bitch...

**Author's Note:**

> Yall do not know how hyped I am about this!! Aniscribbles is the lovely person who came to me asking for a collab and hell, this it what we came up with! They are creating the art for this fic, one piece per chapter, their time willing.
> 
> So please, no reposting of the art for this fic, Ani works really hard on all of this, and it's in their free time that we are bringing this fic to you. Links will be posted at the end of each chapter, as well as each of our tumblrs! You're welcome to come scream at me about what happens, shower Ani in all the compliments that you can because they deserve them all, and just scream at us in general. We love screaming. :D
> 
> Enjoy the fic, give us feedback! Me, TheSpace_Dragon, will be writing the majority of this fic, Ani is helping supply ideas to keep the fic going. I really hope you guys enjoy this, Ani and I really love this idea, and we are really just so excited for this.
> 
> In light of that, a few things on the fic. The timeline is slightly different compared to Inquisition, it starts roughly 5 years after the Conclave meeting. And then it's pretty much off to the races!

Lance clapped the dirt off his hands as he straightened up. He was almost done collecting all of the elfroot he would need to replenish his potion stores. After taking on the last rift, he had depleted most of it. Those demons were the nastiest things he has ever had to deal with in a long time, ever since getting the Mark. That had been a painful experience.

He crept along the cliff face, keeping an eye out for more elfroot. If he was lucky he would stumble upon sprouts of royal elfroot. That specific plant was a more potent species, and the potions he could create from it made his life a lot easier when he was dealing with a nasty rift. Like the one the other day. Lance was still pretty sore from being tossed around by a shade. At least he knew what healing magic he could glean from his mother's grimoire before the sky opened and he was left alone. That had been about five years ago. There had been a call for all mages of any representation, whether it be a circle mage or an apostate like himself and his mother to attend a meeting with the chantry.

And boy, that went really well.

Lance had only been fifteen at the time and being the rebel he was, had followed his mother to the meeting. She was commonly referred to as the Witch of the Wilds, and there were actually a lot of legends revolving around her. Most of which were outrageous and completely unfounded. But the ones where they told the stories of her taking care of the lost wanderers who needed a place to rest and food to eat were true. Lance had watched his mother treat the ones that were injured and kept them at their little shack in the woods till they were well enough to travel to the nearest town. Even the Templars that were ready to take them to the nearest circle and force their attendance. Or worse, become Tranquil.

He shuddered at the thought. Losing his magic was the last thing he wanted to do. The Fade was one thing, he had no love for it because of all the shit happening with the rifts and the giant one in the sky over in the mountains near Haven. Maker, he never should have left the Wilds that night.

A blue-tinged leaf glowed amongst the brown rock and Lance raced to it. No way was he going to pass this up. And bless Andraste, it had seeds! He could grow his own now-

His body lit up on fire, lightning crackling from his left hand.

“Fuck – not this again!”

He ripped the glove he had on to cover the Mark and saw that it was glowing and rippling across his skin. That was not good. He looked at his surrounding, looking for the rift that was about to appear if it hadn't already.

Lance replaced the glove and grabbed the royal elfroot.

He was packing it away when he heard it.

The ground vibrated and growls filled the air.

Lance slowly looked over his shoulder, eyes wide.

Leave it to him to stumble on a dragon’s nest while searching for herbs.

Dragonlings grunted and hissed at him. Three of them to be exact, but dragons laid dozens of eggs at a time, there could be countless more on the way. Or worse, their mother. Maker, he really should have listened to the locals about there being a dragon’s nest in the area.

He pivoted on his toes, slowly turning around to face them, pulling on his magic as he reached for his staff. The dragonlings hissed and weaved their heads back and forth, gathering his scent. The wind blew and caught his clothing, opening the front to expose more of his chest.

The Mark throbbed again and he clenched his fist, trying to stave off the pain as he saw a crack in the air open up. Great just what he needed, a rift _and_ a horde of dragonlings. His day couldn’t get any better.

One of them began to stalk forward. As soon as it was in range of Lance’s staff, he whapped it on the head, using the magic he had ready to stun it with ice.

His sudden movement made the rest leap into action and soon enough he was surrounded.

Lance did his best, but without the time to call upon one of his larger spells, he was forced to use weaker spells to create some distance. He knew after a few minutes of continuous spellcasting he was going to be out of mana.

One of the beasts leaped at him and he knocked it down and away with his staff. He could feel its ribs crack and it let out a loud cry of pain. He cringed, his ears ringing from the sheer volume of it.

The immediate roar and thump of gigantic wings immediately made his blood run cold. There was no catching a break for Lance today. He glanced at the sky and was met with his worst fears. The Ferelden Frostback was a monstrous dragon, a raging red and orange color with purple horns. Its fangs were so large they barely fit in its mouth. There was absolutely no way Lance was going to be able to take care of that on his own, on top of the rift that had opened a mere twenty meters away. He could already see the shades and wisps wandering around outside of it.

Lance cursed and fought off another small dragon. There was a good chance he wasn’t going to make this out alive, and then it would be certain that all of Thedas would be doomed by the rift in the sky.

Mustering what he could, he cast the largest spell he could. He spun and froze what he could, ice spikes erupting from the ground following the end of his staff, and ran. He couldn’t use the cliff wall as a guide anymore and high-tailed it for open ground. It would be easier to dodge any fireballs that came his way with room to move. He grabbed one of his lyrium potions and chugged, feeling the instant relief of having his mana restored. The frostback was circling above, looking for where her offspring were gathered. If dragons were reliable in anything, it was making sure their young survived. And thankfully, that was behind Lance now.

He cast a quick glance behind him, making sure none of the dragonlings were following him. When he faced forward again he slid to a halt and groaned.

Another pack of hatchlings was before him, blocking his route to the tunnel that led him here.

“This really can’t get any better can it?” he complained. Was it too much to ask to be able to go home?

The wind shifted as the frostback’s wings pounded through the air and the pack before him caught ahold of his scent. Great. Lance readied himself for another battle, waiting for the four of them to attack. He wasn’t going to provoke them first.

There was a roar to his right and he turned to find himself face first with yet another beast. Its throat glowed with the tell-tale sign of spewing fire at him. Lance had no time to react, its maw was open, fangs dripping with saliva. He could already feel the heat.

He ducked.

A fireball flew over his head, singeing the air. The dragonling swiped at him, catching his side and leaving jagged cuts along his ribs. He rolled away, hissing in pain and pressing a hand to his side. He’s going to have to use that royal elfroot sooner than he thought if he makes it out of here.

The rest of the pack had surrounded him, hissing and growling at him. If his chances were already slim, they just dropped to near impossible.

One of them leaped at him. He raised his staff to fight it off, but he was still tackled to the ground. Claws dug into his shoulders, slicing into his skin. He grappled with the thing on top of him, using what leverage he could to keep it from tearing out his neck. Its saliva dripped down onto him, searing into his skin. He could feel his arms starting to shake, he couldn’t hold back the dragonling for much longer like this.

It leaned closer and Lance closed his eyes, turning his head away. He nearly felt the tips of its fangs on his throat.

The weight disappeared and Lance could breathe again. His eyes snapped open and a knight was pulling his sword out of the side of the beast. The man turned and Lance saw the Inquisition's all-seeing eye on hs armor. Great, they were in this area too. Lance rolled to his feet, calling on his magic. He shot a glyph away from them, a spot of increased gravity, pulling the pack of dragonlings away from them.

He wasted no time in preparing to cast another large spell.

“The hell are you doing in a dragon’s nest?” the knight called out. Lance spared him a quick glance, seeing that he was fighting off a second hatchling.

The spell complete, Lance launched it for the same place where he had left his glyph. As soon as the lightning storm started, the frostback roared from the sky. She had sensed his magic and heard the cries of her little ones. The sun was blocked out momentarily as she soared over the two men. Lance knew she was circling, trying to discern who attacked her young.

“Apostate! What are you doing in a dragon’s nest!?” the knight shouted at him, glancing between him and the sky.

Lance snarled, “It’s not of your damn business, _Inquisition_!"

“It is my damn business when you anger a fucking dragon! We have refugees coming this way!”

A hatchling launched itself at Lance and he knocked it away with his staff with a grunt. “I didn’t know it was here in the first place!”

“The Inquisition has been telling people to stay away from this area for months, how have you not heard it?” the man sliced at another hatchling, slicing through its throat.

Lance could feel his blood start to boil just from the knight mentioning the religious movement. The Inquisition has been everywhere, always close behind him as they searched for who was closing the rifts. He didn’t want to be involved with them or the Chantry, they only wanted to find out what caused the hole in the sky and eliminate it. Lance wasn’t going to be their tool.

"Yeah well-" Lance shot a bolt of ice at the next dragonling to charge him. The frostback was still circling above them, waiting. "Some of us – aren't in town all that often."

“Do you live under a rock?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know!” Lance felt the air begin to burn. He looked up and saw a fireball heading right for them. He gathered what little magic he had left and shoved a wall of air at the knight, pushing him away from the oncoming fire.

Lance ran in the opposite direction, putting as much distance between him and the impact zone as he could. He hoped he saved the knight’s life by pushing him out of the way, but there was no guarantee that it had been enough to save him.

The ground shook and a wave of fire roared towards him. Lance had no magic left and he could only run. The fire chased after him. But he didn’t get very far when the frostback landed right in front of him.

She bared her teeth and glared down at him. Lance froze in place, panting and staring up at the dangerous beast that came to defend her young.

She reared back her head, her throat glowing. This was it, he was too close to her –

“What are you doing!? RUN!”

The knight appeared again and grabbed his hand, forcing him to sprint along behind him. The frostback let loose a roaring jet of flame, chasing after them. The knight pulled him fast and Lance felt his ribs scream at him.

They raced for the tunnel that promised them safety. Lance looked over his shoulder. Dragons were everywhere and the clearing glowed a burnt orange as the sun shined on the frostback. Fire was spreading across the ground, crackling.

The knight pulled him even faster and just as another fireball was launched at them, they ducked into the tunnel and rounded the corner. They were both heaving for breath.

Fire crashed into the opening, the heat wave was enough to know the air out of Lance’s lungs and he gasped for breath. His ribs were searing, the multiple cuts along his sides were bleeding down his side and he could feel his world start to fade.

He wrenched his hand from the knight and pressed it into his side. “Thanks… for not letting me die.”

“It was – nothing.” They were both breathing hard, adrenaline leaving them winded.

They just ran for their lives, had faced a dragon and lived. Lance couldn’t believe that he had been searching for herbs all day to come face to face with a high dragon and be rescued by a knight of the Inquisition.

He needed a hard drink and long night of rest.

Lance began to limp away. It was going to be a long trek back to his cabin with these wounds.

“Where are you going?” The knight jogged to catch up with him.

Lance grimaced. The Mark crackled and every ache and pain he gathered from fighting off those dragonlings increased ten-fold.

“Home,” he bit out.

He clenched his jaw, fighting the pain, he had to make it…

Lance staggered and nearly fell. The knight caught him, one arm grabbing his waist and the other across his chest.

“You aren’t going to make it like this, let me help.”

Lance found his feet and shoved the knight away. “I don’t need the Inquisition’s-”

He screamed, the Mark burned away his glove and filled the tunnel with a sickly green. Lance gripped his wrist and fell to his knees. He felt his teeth creek, everything was tense. Not now, not now, not _now._ The knight knelt beside him, hands hovering over him as the Mark pulsed again and Lance convulsed. He cried out again. Everything hurt, the pain was just as it was before.

“The…rift…”

The knight leaned in. “The what? Rift?”

Lance raised his head and struggled to speak, “I need… it needs to… closed.”

His strength left him and everything went black.


	2. Maker's shit I do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which both Keith and Lance are more stubborn than what I paid for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these two idiots I swear.
> 
> Well here's the update!! There's no set schedule, but we will try to keep semi-regular updates, whatever that is. xD
> 
> Again, please don't repost the art from the chapters anywhere, Ani spends way too much time on these for them to be stolen. 'kay? Thanks~

When Lance came to, his ribs felt like they were on fire, searing with pain. Maker, this was the worst he has ever felt next to receiving the mark.

He groaned and blinked his eyes open. The stone above him glowed and flickered with the light of a fire that he was laid down next to. Everything felt heavy, every inch of him was begging for him to visit the Fade and forget about what had happened a few hours before.

“So, you’re alive after all.”

Lance winced and turned his head slowly. The knight from before sat on the other side of the fire, eyes boring into him with a fire of his own.

“I’m assuming thanks to you,” he rasped.

The knight thinned his lips and looked away. Lance took stock of what exactly hurt and what was simply sore from lying on the ground. His ribs were obvious, but when he shifted to sit himself up, he felt the bruises on his back protest, ranging from his shoulders down to his hips.

His chest was bandaged, and his shirt had been slipped off of his shoulders, left to pool around his waist. He sucked in a breath and forced himself to an upright position. He leaned on his right arm and panted, the other lying in his lap. A quick look told him that the Mark had burned off the palm of his glove, yet another repair he was going to have to do when he returned to his hut.

The man that had saved his life watched him warily. “You’ve been the on closing the rifts.”

It was a simple statement and Lance looked up at him, careful to keep his face neutral. “I’m sure there are more mages than just me capable of such a feat.”

Lance returned his attention to himself. His body was battered, but whole none the less. His bag laid at his side and reached to look through it. Elfroot and the one stalk of royal elfroot he managed to get were slightly crushed, but still usable. He ripped a leaf off the smaller plant and brought it to his mouth, chewing it into a paste. Lance continued to dig through his pack till he found one of his last lyrium potions and a roll of bandages. The lack of lyirum would mean another trip to the caves on the opposite side of the Hinterlands, but first, he had to get himself walking. 

Spitting the elfroot paste onto his palm and adding a touch of lyirum as he wrapped the Mark in bandages made his hand feel less like it had the center of the world being ripped apart in it. A soft sigh escaped him and his shoulder slumped.

The knight had remained silent, watching Lance treat himself with a far deeper knowledge of healing than he was ever going to grasp. He knew that Lance was bluffing.

“You would be wrong to assume that there are more like you.”

Lance raised a brow before dumping the rest of the lyrium potion down his throat. The effect was immediate; soothing cold and energy returned to him, relieving the heaviness he had felt when he first woke up.

“It’s of little concern to you what I do in my free time, Knight.”

“It’s Keith.”

Lance chose to ignore him and pulled on his magic, whispering lowly and pressing both hands to his side. It took a few moments, but soon enough he could feel his muscles and skin knitting themselves back together. It was all he could afford to do if he wanted to be safe.

“Thanks for the save, Keith. Would have been a dragon snack if you hadn’t come along.”

“If you would have listened to the postings of the Inquisition and the locals, you wouldn’t have been in that situation in the first place.” Keith sounded exasperated.

“If you haven’t noticed already, I’m not exactly one of the locals,” Lance bit out.

Keith took stock of what Lance was dressed in, they were essentially rags, nothing like the townspeople or the apostates wandering the woods. The mage was thin but well built. He wasn't missing meals like the refugees were. A defined chest, strong arms – Keith snapped his gaze up to the mage's face. His ears were burning and he was thankful his hair covered them.

The mage was smirking; Keith had been staring for too long.

“Alright, so you’re not from the refugee camp,” Keith huffed. “So where are you from?”

“Here and there.” The mage shrugged.

Keith pursed his lips. “What’s your name, mage?”

“Ah, see,” he groaned as he pulled himself to his feet. He was stiff but everything was still working. “About that, there’s really no need to know who I am, I’m just a mage who lives in the woods.”

The mage pulled his shirt back up, covering his shoulders, but leaving his chest bare. How did he live like that? It was nearly winter.

“A mage that can heal himself and close the rifts. Why haven’t you come to the nearby town to help?”

Lance shrugged. There were lots of reasons, the biggest being people didn’t trust mages if they didn’t belong to the circle. They were jumpy around him, judging him for something he couldn’t help being. At least _he_ was comfortable with himself, but there was no need to go out of his way to make people trust him either.

"Have no business with the town. I don't bother them; they don't bother me." He stooped to grab his bag and looped it over his shoulder. His staff was leaning against the wall nearest him, waiting for him to take it. He wondered if it zapped the knight when he touched it, the thing had a tendency to do that since he enchanted it with a lightning rune.

Keith stood and stepped around the fire. “A healer of your capabilities would make the difference between life and death for half of the refugees there, mage.”

Lance blinked, expressionless. “Right, the refugees. I’m sure one of the circle mages you have lying around can do something, even those chantry enchanters have some ability. You don’t really need my help.”

He turned and began to walk out of the tunnel, limping slightly and using his staff to help him. Lance heard the knight’s armor clink and rattle as he jogged to catch back up with him.

“I don’t think you understand. These people – they have families, and their loved ones are dying because the mages and enchanters we have don’t have the power to heal everything that’s wrong.”

“Shame.”

“But you do! I just watched you heal your ribs like it was nothing!”

Lance stopped and held up a hand before Keith could keep going. "First," he held up one finger, "that did not take 'nothing'. It cost me one of my last lyrium potions to be able to heal the cuts on my side and the burn on my hand.” A second finger went up. “Secondly, the refugees are fine. They just need to stay out of the woods and away from the abandoned fortress to keep from being caught in the crossfire. Neither side is very picky about who they kill, and if they can’t protect themselves, they have no business being in the woods.”

He started to walk away again, Keith’s face a mixture of anger and surprise that Lance knew any of that. He may hail from the Wildes originally, but the Hinterlands have been his home for the past five years. He knew what was going on, but the idle town gossip was something he wasn’t interested in.

“How do you know that they’re trying to leave the town?” The knight was back.

Lance rolled his eyes. "Oh, it's simple really. The Inquisition is in town and it sparked the new war between the mages and Templars. They were at an agreement before your lot strutted in like you owned the place."

Their boots scuffed the rocks beneath their feet, and Lance was pointedly ignoring the knight. Now that they were out in the sunlight, the knight was far more attractive than he cared to admit. So his hair framed his face and eyes nicely for someone who hasn’t cut it in months? Big deal. And his eyes were a surprisingly dark shade of gray-blue, almost like wet shale. _Focus Lance._

“But you can help them! The Inquisition has lyrium stores if you really need-”

“Keith, I think you forget that you’re talking to a mage that has literally been avoiding the people. The apostates that live in these woods know I exist, but they have never seen me. Same with the Templars.”

“That doesn’t explain why you won’t help,” Keith snapped.

Lance stopped for the second time and sighed. Loudly. He leaned on his staff and propped a hand on his hip. “Maybe it’s because I don’t like people? Hello, just said that.”

“And what have the people done to you? Are you a hermit by choice or have you been wronged?”

“Oh Maker, you’re a dense one.”

Keith all but growled at him.

“Look, you’re nice, but you’re with the Inquisition. It’s a pretty large group. The town is full of people, most of whom are scared to even go near a mage, even if they’re from a circle. Sooo, why don’t you do yourself a favor and let me go my own way? Yeah?” Lance gave him a chipper smile and pat on the cheek before turning and making his way into the woods.

The knight paused and gaped after him. He shook himself and caught up to him for a third time, grabbing his arm and pulling him to a stop.

“Why are you so against helping?”

Lance plucked the man’s hand off of his arm. “It’s nothing personal, believe me. But I have my reasons, and they will remain my reasons.”

He turned and found the knight standing in his path.

“What is it now? Did you come up with some way to force me to join your cult?”

Keith looked taken aback. “What – cult? No, the Inquisition is not a cult. We want the world to survive and live in peace. We have no way of doing this without someone who can close the rifts. You can!”

Lance rolled his eyes. Maker have mercy on him. “You have no proof.”

Keith pointed at his hand. “That’s enough proof! You’re Marked!”

Lance involuntarily clenched his fist, nails biting into the bandage.

“Just because I have a magic mark on my hand does not entail that I can close the rifts. It reacts to them and no more. Now step aside.”

Keith frowned hand gripping his sword. He was nervous, Lance could tell he was inexperienced with dealing with mages. The ones from the circles were tame compared to him. He was wild, free, not bound to anything. He wouldn’t hesitate if pushed.

Keith stood firm. “Meet with the leaders and decide from there.”

“What part don’t you get? Why would the Inquisition, a sect of the Chantry, want anything to do with an apostate from the woods? Did the dragon knock your head and not mine?”

The knight didn’t even flinch. His eyes were steady, and his hand never wavered from his sword. It was a completely different person standing in front of him compared to a few moments ago. What was he so sure about-

“You owe me a favor.”

Oh. So that was how this was going to go? Lance took a deep breath, his hand gripping his staff tightly. Electricity sparked along its length, making the knight jump slightly, but Lance didn’t move.

“I never asked you to come save my life, and I never asked you to bandage my wounds.”

“You talk in your sleep. You mentioned the rifts and owing me one now.”

“Maker’s shit I do.”

They stared each other down. Lance seriously just wanted to collapse face first into his bed at his cabin, but this man was trying his patience. Why couldn’t he just let Lance leave?

Daring to use the little magic he had, frost covered his hand just before he tossed the spell at Keith’s feet. It froze his feet to the ground and wouldn’t melt for a few hours.

“The hell are you doing!?”

Keith yanked at his feet but, they were securely stuck to the ground.

“Sorry, little Knight, but this mage has somewhere to bed and you were in the way. I’ll see you around if I decide to visit the town. Farewell!” Lance sang as he passed the knight, well out of his reach.

Keith growled and tried to lunge for him but Lance was already gone, limping into the woods.

Lance felt sorry for the man, he truly did, but knight had proven to be more stubborn than Lance originally thought. He didn’t have the time to argue the finer points of saving another’s life. His bed was calling, and then he needed a trip to the caves after a day’s rest. The lyrium he needed wasn’t going to collect itself.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

By the time Lance rose the next day, the sun was already high in the sky and his cabin was warmed nicely. His body protested some as he sat up and stretched. Bruises marred his leg and upper arms. His whole back was a giant knot from sleeping in a strange position, but it just meant that he finally had a decent night’s rest compared to the rest of his days.

He slipped out of bed and pulled on a pair of pants, forgoing his normal outfit for the sake that it needed repairs. The dragonling from yesterday shredded the top and there was no way he was going to be seen in that.

Lance decided that was all he was going to do today: fix his clothing and that was it. No going after rifts, no stumbling into dragon’s nests, and definitely not scouring his way through caves for what little lyrium he knew he was going to find.

Rooting through the trunk at the foot of his bed, he pulled out needle and string along with a stiff piece of leather for his glove. The Mark was calm today, and he was thankful that he lived nowhere near the dragon’s nest to be caught near the new rift. It was going to be a long time before he would be able to get to that one.

The day was beautiful and warm. The skies were clear and he could hear no sound of the fighting around him. Peace and quiet, just the way he liked it. Lance picked up his shirt and glove from the pile on the ground and made his way outside. Lounging in the sun would do him good.

“I wondered if this was your place or not.”

Of course the knight would find him.

Lance slouched and glared at the knight was leaning against a tree just outside of his home.

“Maker’s breath…why are you here?”

Keith fixed his glove in place, not meeting his stare. “You owe me a favor remember?”

“And your plan is to ambush me outside my own home.”

He glanced up at Lance. His pale skin gave his blush away as he quickly looked away before answering, “If that’s what it takes for the world to find peace again.”

Lance rolled his eyes and walked away from the knight and towards a small clearing where he could get his sewing done. “Right. Good luck with that.”

“Don’t you have any morals?” Keith asked, following him.

“Plenty, but I would bore you with them, so why don’t you head back to your cult.”

Keith sighed heavily. “It’s not a cult.”

“Could have fooled the Maker on that one.” Lance threaded his needle and eyed his shirt. At this rate, he might as well buy a new one.

Maybe Keith would see him in town eventually.

Not…that he was looking forward to that. Of course not. Lance wasn’t interested in him, Keith was with the Inquisition and that was something he wouldn’t see past.

Getting over himself, Lance set to work, legs crossed and shirt draped over his lap.

He knew Keith was studying him and it made him secretly glad he decided to go without a shirt. Secretly being the keyword. What was with him and suddenly caring if this Inquisition knight thought he was attractive or not? Maker, Lance, maybe he did have to go to the town for a few drinks at the tavern.

The forest was silent around them, only the wind rustling the leaves. Animals never wandered in these forests anymore, not since the apostates moved in and the Templars were set on dragging them out.

“Why are you so against helping?” Keith asked after the silence broached the level of being uncomfortable.

“Because it wasn’t any of my business.” It took his mother away and gave him the Mark.

“But you are a mage, this should be something you are concerned about, yes?”

Lance lowered his shirt and fixed Keith with a look. “And you are a knight. Why does it matter to you?”

Keith frowned. “Seeker, I’m a seeker-”

“What difference does it make?” Lance muttered.

“-and it matters because I want Thedas to be at piece. We cannot achieve that with a hole in the sky.”

Lance held up the thread and needle. “Stitch it back together. No more hole in the sky.”

“We need someone who is capable of sewing for that to happen.”

“What a shame that you don’t know anyone who can,” Lance sighed, turning back to his shirt.

Keith fumed, before stomping over to stand over Lance. "We would have someone, but he refuses to leave his hut in the woods!"

“Oh? Really? I would love to meet him; he sounds like a really down to earth guy. Maybe we-”

“I am referencing you, you damned idiot!” Keith growled.

Lance looked up and met his heated gaze. Keith looked ready to bite his head off.

He sighed and set his shirt down again. “Look, I don’t know why you’re here, or how you found this place. But my position is clear. I am not joining you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to? I am a free mage, Keith, I plan to keep it that way.” He was tired of this already. The Inquisition was everywhere, people he had to constantly look out for and avoid. If they saw him closing the rifts, he would be taken against his will.

Which made it very strange that Keith hadn’t done exactly that.

“So you are willing to let the world fall victim to the Fade?” Keith crossed his arms.

“No, I never said that.”

“Then why is it so hard to join a group of people that are trying to rid the world of the evil that has befallen it?”

Lance stood and took a deep breath, he would not let his frustration rule him. He turned to Keith and leaned in slightly. “Because the world will always have evil and it is a fool’s folly to think that the world will ever be a peace, Seeker,” he said lowly.

Keith blinked and took a step back. Lance was sure that all of the troubles he had been through in the past five years showed themselves in his eyes. When he traveled through the towns, people always commented on how cold his stare was. But this? This was the full effect.

He knew he looked like he was wishing for death, that his eyes were always searching for something worse to appear before him. His eyes spoke of hardships and days where Lance contemplated killing himself, to escape to the Fade and be done with closing the rifts by himself. Yet here he stood, for better or for worse, still breathing and closing the rifts that he found on his travels.

Lance straightened, face grim. “The world doesn’t magically become a better place, Seeker. Better to realize that now than to keep praying for the Maker to save us all.”

He gathered his things and made his way back to his cabin. So much for enjoying the weather.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

The next morning Lance was decidedly feeling much better. His body wasn't nearly as sore, and with light stretching, he was feeling up to a trip to the caves for lyrium.

He tugged on the same pants as yesterday, strapped on his boots, and found one of the few tunics he still owned. He slipped it on, grabbed his satchel and staff before walking out the door.

And lo and behold, Keith was there.

The sun was barely over the horizon, what was he doing here?

“Are you here to try and recruit me again?” he asked as he stalked past Keith and into the forest.

The seeker turned and walked behind him. “More to find out why you are so against this.”

“And I told you that I have my-”

“Reasons. I know,” Keith grumbled.

They walked in silence, Lance pointedly ignoring Keith and leading the way to the caves to the north. They were traveling close to where Redcliffe was situated, and Lance was sure Keith knew exactly where they were.

“Why are you heading to Redcliffe?”

Lance ducked under a tree branch. “Lyrium caves are up here.”

“That would-”

“No, no you don’t!” Lance spun and jabbed a finger into his breastplate. “This is my stash, you and the Inquisition can find your own.”

Keith frowned and pushed Lance’s hand away. “You don’t have claim to caves that hold lyrium, mage.”

“Does the Inquisition decide that too?” Lance scoffed and turned around again.

More silence. Keith’s clinking armor warded off any animals, and occasionally Lance would find a herb that he would need for something and snatch it up. Keith observed the entire time. He never asked what any of the herbs were for, and that puzzled Lance since he made it clear that he wasn’t going to help, so wouldn’t it be the smart thing that Keith would be asking questions and pestering Lance so he could relay it to the healers back at the refugee camps?

The longer Keith stayed silent, the more Lance was inclined to think he was dim.

Hours passed and the closer they got to the caves, the stronger the pull of lyrium Lance could feel. Yet it felt different compared to before, something was off. When they reached one of the shallower caves and instead of being lit with the calming blue of normal lyrium it was glowing a dull red.

This vein of lyrium had been corrupted.

It had grown up the walls, crawling along ever surface.

“Maker’s breath,” Lance breathed.

He could feel the tainted energy, ghosting over everything. How did this happen? The blight…it wasn’t supposed to be here. When the hero of Ferelden defeated the archdemon, the blight faded away and the darkspawn were locked away in the deep roads.

So what was it doing here in the Hinterlands?

“What happened to it?” Keith reached out to touch it.

“No! Don’t touch it!”

Lance smacked his hand and shoved him out of the cave, not letting Keith get a word out. When they were both out, Lance strode to the next cave and inspected it. More red lyrium. Again to another cave, again more of the tainted lyrium.

This was wrong. So wrong. Lance could feel his magic reaching out for it, and he was struggling to keep himself from using his magic anywhere near it. It put him on edge, his nerves shot and he was jumping at every little noise. He had to get away. This place wasn’t safe anymore.

He backed away from the caves, shaking his head, eyes wide. He backed right into Keith and flinched away.

“Are you alright?” Keith held his hands out, a placating gesture that was lost on Lance.

“The lyrium is tainted. With the blight.” Lance pulled at his hair, the energy from the caves still pulling at him. “It’s not supposed to be here. The blight was defeated it. It’s gone. Why is it here?”

Keith took a cautious step forward and Lance flinched out of the way, away from both the seeker and the caves. He had to leave, this wasn’t good. The manic energy that emanated from those caves was a danger. To everyone. How was Keith unaffected?

“Look, it will be fine, let’s head back to Redcliffe," Keith spoke with a low voice, trying to get Lance to calm down.

Lance's eyes danced around, looking for any darkspawn the could appear from the caves. They were deep enough to possibly reach the beginnings of the deep roads, but he wasn't going to be the one who found that out. He took another step back. He stumbled and fell backward, Keith lunging forward to grab his arm.

Lance felt an instant calm wash over him as Keith helped him find his footing again.

“What…what are you doing to me?”

Keith let his hand linger on Lance’s arm before stepping away. “It’s a trick that Seekers use to keep themselves distanced from falling victim to tainted objects. Clearly, that red lyrium was doing more to you than it was doing to me.”

Lance rubbed his arm and looked away. He appreciated the gesture, once again Keith was going out of his way for him, for reasons he couldn’t understand.

“Answer me truthfully,” Lance began, “but why are you seeking me out?”

Keith raised his eyebrows. “You are Marked and you can close the rifts. Why would I not be searching for someone who can help end this madness Thedas has been living in for years now?”

“You don’t even know if I can close the rifts, all you know is that I’m Marked.”

The seeker sighed and gestured for them to head back the way they came. Lance for once didn't argue with him. He wanted to leave, there was no way he was going to risk coming back to these caves.

“You are the only one that has been Marked,” Keith explained. “From what I’ve seen and what I’ve heard.”

Lance hummed but didn't respond. He found it difficult to want to trust the Inquisition. They had Templars amongst them, and they were aligned with the Chantry. The very same people who took his mother away from him all those years ago. It wasn't something he could easily forgive, especially during the war between mages and Templars. If he strayed from his normal path and came across a Templar, it was either kill or be killed, and Lance hated that he had to take someone's life simply to survive.

Keith didn't push Lance to tell him any more than that. As they trekked through the woods, they caught the occasional signs of fighting, but thankfully they encountered no one. The seeker was leading this time. They were heading to Redcliffe village. For what, Lance had no idea, but he had no will to tell Keith otherwise.

Lance studied Keith, trying to pinpoint where the man began and the Inquisition ended. His shield held the insignia, same with his breastplate. He had a long sword attached to his belt and wore a combination of plate and chain mail. He had to be smoldering in his armor, and Lance was slightly warm in his tunic and pants.

They reached Redcliffe without anything happening to them. It put Lance on high alert because there were few days where he didn’t encounter a rift or stumbled his way into a battle between apostates and Templars.

Redcliffe village was teaming with Templars and a few refugees. They eyed Lance, reaching for their weapons. It took Keith’s glare to get them to stand down, but even then, the few they saw at the beginning became many as they walked further into the town.

Keith led Lance to a tavern and sat him down at a table, hailing the wench to bring them ale and plates of food. Lance never let his guard down, even when Keith seemed relaxed in this current setting. There was no hiding Lance’s status as a mage, and the few people that were sitting around them soon left when they saw his staff.

“Don’t worry about the tab, I’ll pay.”

Lance glanced at Keith but nodded. He wasn’t going to turn down a free meal, despite what Keith may demand of him later.

The serving girl brought them their food and ale, and Keith happily dug into his food. Lance hesitated. His nerves were still a mess despite whatever Keith did to him. It made him feel…fuzzy, out of focus. And he needed clarity. An unfocused mind was the end to any mage, and while Lance had his moments, this made him want to sleep for days.

“You can eat.” Keith was eyeing him from across the table, sword leaning against the edge.

“Right…” Lance nibbled at his food. His stomach wouldn’t settle and he had no intention of drinking the ale.

It was an uncomfortable five minutes before Keith finished his food and pushed his plate away. He leaned back and propped one arm up on the back of a chair next to him.

“What exactly happened to you back at the caves?”

Lance met his gaze, his dark gray eyes were focused, curiosity burning within them.

He sighed and toyed with his food more. “The lyrium was tainted. Somehow the blight got to it and now it’s like that.”

“Wasn’t the blight defeated years ago?”

Lance nodded. “When the hero of Ferelden defeated the archdemon and disappeared, that’s when the blight ended. But that doesn’t stop whatever makes darkspawn, well, darkspawn. It’s a disease…and lyrium is a living thing. The blight infects what it can reach, it destroys everything, even the Wardens who use it to combat it.”

Keith frowned and took all of that in. Few knew that the Grey Wardens took in the blight to target the archdemon leading it. Lance was privy because his mother told him stories, how she met the hero of Ferelden and nursed them back to health just before everything took a turn for the worse when Cailin had died in battle. That had been roughly ten years before he was born.

“The name’s Lance, by the way,” Lance added.  “I guess since you’ve seen me have a panic attack and saved my life, you should at least know my name now.”

Keith smirked. “So you admit that I saved your life?”

“I never denied it in the first place!”

The seeker threw back his head and laughed – and what a laugh it was. It racked his whole frame, and Lance could feel heat blossoming on his cheeks. He shouldn’t be reacting this way, not to a seeker, not to someone from the Inquisition.

He scowled and sat back, crossing his arms. “I only denied owing you anything for that.”

Keith leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I mean nothing by it, Lance.”

The mage suppressed a shiver from the sound of his name falling out of the seeker’s mouth. Maker’s mercy, why was this getting to him? What exactly did Keith do to him?

“But do tell me one thing.”

Lance looked over at him, wary of what he was going to ask.

“Why do you hate the Inquisition?”

He opened his mouth to bark out a response but Keith held up his hand and continued. “And I do not mean because it is bringing people to the valley or sparking the war between Templars and apostates again. There’s more to it than that.”

Lance stiffened and looked away, boring a hole into the wall across the tavern. “Isn’t that asking a bit much?”

Keith shrugged, his chain mail clinking. "I'm curious about your story. I have met many mages, and I can say that all mages have their quirks and their limits. But you… you have… there's something different."

“That’s putting it kindly,” Lance muttered.

He toyed with his food more, not wanting to even think about answering Keith’s question, but the man across from him asked him to earnestly that Lance felt compelled to. He had known Keith for a total of three days, and the man was intriguing. And it had nothing to do with how the firelight played off of his hair, or the way his eyes were dark as the night right now.

Keith waited, and Lance took a deep breath.

“It started when the Divine called for that meeting.”

The seeker immediately stiffened but didn’t speak.

“My mother was the Witch of the Wildes and she was asked to join. It was there I watched my mother and the Divine die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Mogi: [thespace-dragon](http://thespace-dragon.tumblr.com/)  
> Ani: [aniscribbles](http://aniscribbles.tumblr.com/)  
> Art: [Please Reblog the Art from Here~](http://aniscribbles.tumblr.com/post/159203960195/taggedmyart)  
> 


	3. Frosted Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some memories make you cold, others you just want to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry for the delay, life happened for both of us, more so for Ani than me, but we got our asses in gear and got the chapter done.
> 
> Ani didn't draw anything for this chapter, but she is working on chapter 4 ideas, and if you smooze her enough, you might convince her to do double art. *wink wink nudge nudge*
> 
> Plus there's a playlist for this fic!! (2 actually) [Songs](https://open.spotify.com/user/niko2018/playlist/41A6UoBeIA7MdOg1ucJvOx) and [Scores](https://open.spotify.com/user/niko2018/playlist/25agXpy4GraCTfBTf6QWnC)!
> 
> Anywhoodles, enjoy the chapter! :D

Keith sat there frozen, not knowing what to say to this mage in front of him. It never got any easier the more stories he heard about lost loved ones, or the horrors refugees witnessed within the woods. He hadn't been there at the Conclave, had never met the Divine, but because he was a Seeker, he knew all about what happened.

He remained quiet, letting Lance find the courage to tell his story.

“I was only fifteen at the time, rebellious and bored of the Wildes. So I followed after her.” Lance was still toying with his food, not really caring if it was cold or not. “I followed her here, all the way to the Hinterlands. She met with the Divine, spoke on behalf of all the apostates.  She was well known, and most of the apostates deferred to her.”

Keith leaned forward, tilting his head. “What was her name? I want to say it was Amy, but that doesn’t sound right.”

Lance smiled softly. “Her name was Amelia. And I guess, I should clarify something.”

“And what’s that?”

“She wasn’t _the_ Witch of the Wildes. There were many mages who lived in the Wildes, mostly because it was rich in plants we needed for potions. She was the one to treat the Hero, but there were others. I'm sure you've heard of them. Flemeth and Morrigan were another mother and child pair like my mother and me."

Keith nodded. “Flemeth disappeared at the beginning of the last blight and Morrigan disappeared not long after it ended.” They hadn’t been the most well liked either. He remembered a few conversations with King Alistair and the Champion of Kirkwall. They weren’t all that fond of either them.

“Right, well, my mother was talking with the Divine and things were getting heated. They were both trying to keep the peace, but the crowds of mages and Templars were throwing insults and accusations at each other every chance they got and it…they had to call for a break and reconvene within the hour.” Lance fiddled with his fingers, specks of frost collecting at the tips. He brushed them off and took a deep breath.

“My mother didn’t leave the hall like the rest of everyone else, she stayed with the Divine. She said something about being freer to talk with everyone gone."

Keith frowned slightly. “Where were you in the room?”

Lance looked up, a small grin flying across his face. “I managed to climb up into the rafters at this point. Not the most comfortable spot, but it had a good vantage point.” Then the grin dropped away. “But it wasn’t long after that when someone entered the room with them. A monster calling himself -”

“Zarkon.” The word felt like acid on Keith’s tongue. That monster had been the one to destroy the Conclave, leaving it in ruins. None of the mages or Templars there had made it out unscathed, the Divine’s body hadn’t been found.

“Him. He walked in like he owned the fort – I don’t even know what the place was called but it was huge. He had this orb with him and he was holding out in front of him, gloating about it. My mother stepped in front of the Divine and told him to leave. He wouldn't. Then he activated the orb."

Lance remembered how the orb came to life, glowing the same sickly green his Mark did, rippling like water. Zarkon had raised it higher, summoning more of its power. His face was twisted in a grotesque smile, showing off pointed teeth, wrinkled skin, and pupil-less, haunting yellow eyes. Lance still had nightmares about those eyes searching for him. The ground had started to shake, knocking everyone off balance and throwing him from the rafters. He fell heavily, landing on his shoulder. Zarkon had dropped the orb. It had rolled to the side of the room where Lance was. He remembered how he sat up and picked up the orb, how it burned into his hand. Zarkon’s scream of rage haunted him. The monster lunged at him but then everything had gone blank.

“Lance…?”

The mage looked up and met Keith’s concerned stare. It shook him to the core, it’s been five years since he had anyone look at him like that. Lance looked away and rubbed off the frost that had gathered on the table around his hands.

He refused to look at Keith when he returned to his story. “The orb gave me the mark and Zarkon screamed, launching a spell at me.” He gulped. “My – my mother redirected it to her. Then Zarkon…the spell…” Frost was spreading around him. “She… Sorry, but-”

A yell cut him off and both men jumped. Someone was on the floor next to their table, lying on a patch of ice.

Lance froze in place, his eyes locked onto the patron as he slowly stood, face furious.

“What in Maker’s breath is an _apostate_ doing _here_?” he shouted.

Keith immediately went for his sword, grabbing it and sliding it half way out of its scabbard. Lance still hadn’t moved, staring at the man who had just fallen, eyes wide, full of shock and panic.

“Well?” the man sneered. “Are you going to answer me? Or did some demon take your tongue along with your mind?”

Lance blinked and looked around. People were staring, muttering about the mage in the tavern, judging him. Just like always. He took a deep breath, eyes slipping closed as he found his center.

The man planted a meaty hand on the table, right in front of him and leaned in. “Are you possessed, apostate? Is the Inquisition going to make you Tranquil?”

He opened his eyes and glanced at Keith and shook his head slightly. Keith was inclined to ignore him and step in if the man continued to make comments. Lance stood up and the man stumbled back with a shout.

“Don’t you dare try magic in here, apostate!”

Lance ignored him and grabbed his staff, magic sparking along its length. A quick tap to the ground and the ice was gone. He turned to Keith with a sad smile. “Thank you for the meal, but I’m afraid I should be going now.”

With that, he walked out.

Keith slammed his sword back into place and ran after him.

“Lance!”

By the time he had left the tavern, Lance was already shoving his way through a group of Templars. He rushed over but was stopped by a wall of ice. The foot of it extended out and caught all of the Templars feet, rendering them immobile. Through the ice, Keith could see Lance leaving the village, shoulders slumped and staff clenched tightly in one fist.

Keith pounded on the ice in frustration. “ _Dammit._ ”

* * *

It was dark by the time Lance returned to his cabin. The eyes of wildlife watching him as he summoned a small wisp to light his way. His part of the Hinterlands, at least the part that he traveled most of often, was nearly void of any other activity besides himself and the rifts.

But that didn't stop the fact that a Seeker, of all people, now knew where he lived. Lance had nowhere else to go, he was stuck in the Hinterlands. Even with the war restarting, there was no guarantee anywhere else was going to be as accepting of mages. Sure, he could travel to Orlais, maybe Tevinter if he was feeling adventurous, but those places were so far away, plus Orlais force required mages to join a circle. There was no freelancing like he was now. And regardless of the fact that the Inquisition was trying to create peace in this fucked up world, he felt that he owed the world something.

It had been his fault that the rift had even opened up in the first place. The orb had seared its mark into his hand, latching onto his magic and used it to rip open the rift that hung over the remnants of the Conclave.

Lance sighed and clenched his staff tighter, sparks racing along it. He couldn't believe that he lost himself in the tavern. Lost himself in front of Keith. He felt like a novice again, just barely understanding his magic. If he thought about it, he really was a one again. The mark took what he knew and threw it out the window and over a cliff. The past five years, he has been trying to regain the control he once had. Maker knew he had it. It was just a matter of working for it.

It had been by chance that he figured out how to close the rifts and sheer luck that he was able to find his mother's journal in his ransacked hut back in the Wildes by the time he had returned. She had always been smart in that regard; nothing was flashy, nothing looked expensive. Everything was nondescript, never catching the eye unless you knew what you were looking for. So when he had found it, he cried. Damn near bawling. His body had been nearly torn to pieces, he was starving, bruises and burns and gashes - everything that was short of a broken bone had happened to him. He was so strung out, literally on his last legs when he made it home. That journal had been his saving grace. If it weren't for his mother's notes, he would have died not long after and Zarkon would have free reign of the world.

Lance dispelled the wisp and walked into his cabin, locking the door behind him. He was secretly glad that Keith hadn't followed him beyond the ice wall. He simply felt too tired to deal with anyone after that. The man who had slipped was just like any other, shouting at him, throwing angry slurs till he left. Of course, it would have ended quicker, albeit violently, if he had used his magic to shut the man up. It wouldn't have been the first time Lance felt that urge. Every time it happened, he was more inclined to do it. And that man slamming his hand on the table, leaning into his space, and shouting at him nearly gave him cause to. But Keith had been sitting across from him...

And why it mattered that Keith, a Seeker from the Inquisition, had been there was lost to him.

Why was it Keith who made him stop? After all these years, it shouldn't have mattered.

Lance stripped down and collapsed into his bed, falling onto his side. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Dark gray eyes stared back at him, framed with dark lashes and long dark bangs falling into them. Lance let the breath go, running a hand over his face. Maker, this was too much...

* * *

_Thump! Thump! Thump!_

He groaned and rolled over, shoving his face into his flimsy pillow and tugged the blanket farther over his head.

_Thump! Thump! Thump!_

“Lance!”

He rolled back over and screwed up his face, scowling at his ceiling. The pounding at his door was doing nothing for the headache he was dealing with from a sleepless night; at least he had been productive and starting a few of the potions he absolutely needed. He was certain he looked dreadful too, not having done his routine since the Frostback incident. He felt like the Fade would open up and take him any moment, anything to just slee –

_Thump! Thump! Thump!_

“Lance, I swear on the Maker, if you don’t answer you fucking door, I’m kicking it in!”

Lance groaned. As much as he would love to ignore Keith at the moment, he would really love to keep his door. He rolled out of bed, slipped on a pair of pants and trudged his way to the door. He ripped it open and glared at the seeker before him.

“Has it occurred to you that not everyone wakes up this early?” he groused. The sun was barely over the horizon.

Keith had his fist raised, ready to pound Lance’s door again, and his mouth open. He took in Lance’s appearance – bed head, wrinkled pants, and bags under his eyes – slammed his mouth shut and took a quick step back, lowering his hand. Had the mage not gotten any sleep last night?

"I – uh, I'm sorry but, Lance, we - we should talk." Keith stumbled over his words, barely making a coherent sentence.

Lance blinked and narrowed his eyes. “Talk about what.”

“About the tavern last night.”

Lance took a deep breath and opened the door further. No use delaying it. “Fine. There's no point saying no since you'll just be here next morning anyways." He stepped aside and let Keith enter.

His home was a mess, littered with potions in the middle of being brewed, plants were potted and placed near the windows. The shelves were stuffed with trinkets and garbage alike, packed and dangerously close to overflowing onto the cluttered floor – five years of living by yourself gave you the right to be a _little_ messy. Baskets filled with ingredients lined empty spaces by the wall, making the overall size of the room feel smaller than it already was. The desk where he worked on potions was soiled with liquids both wet and drying, several long-term concoctions bubbling under tin lids. His mother’s book and his were open on stands, notes scrawled into the margins on his mother’s and diagrams filling his own.

A few decorative pelts were pinned to the walls, most of which were worn and patchy from exposure to various chemicals and steeped plants. There was an impressive scorch mark on the wall above his desk where one of his earlier potions had gone wrong and blown up in his face. He had been trying one of his mother’s more difficult concoctions just after he finished fixing the place up. The blackened ceiling was something he was used to seeing every time he woke up now. And it was a constant reminder to wear eye protection while working since he'd nearly lost his sight the first time.

The stone floor was marbled with stains, which he’d tried to cover with a few carpets stitched with filigree. The interior overall was dimly lit by an oil lamp on his desk and a couple torches on the walls that had burned close to ash, and he made a mental note to make more later.

“It’s not much,” Lance said casually, letting the door fall shut after the other stepped in. “But it’s home.”

Keith took it all in, a little surprised Lance had given in so easily. He really hadn’t seen anything so lived in, and despite the clutter, it was well loved. As he was still staring at the mage’s home, Lance brushed passed him and made for one of the bubbling pots on the desk, lifting the lid and eyeing its contents. The smell was sickly sweet and _strong_.

He coughed and covered his nose and mouth with a gloved hand. Lance glanced at him but did nothing to the potion. Instead, he reached for the window and opened it, letting in the morning chill. The wind rustled the leaves, whispering through the tall grass surrounding the hut. Sunlight trickled, catching the different colored mists from the potions. Lance bustled about, turning down the flames underneath a few and uncapping the others, letting more smells take over the small room. Then he was across the hut and opening a second window.

The cross breeze that resulted lessened the scents that were assaulting Keith’s nose and made them bearable. He took a deep refreshing breath and let it out steadily.

“What exactly is it you want to talk about, Keith?” Lance asked as he threw on the tunic he had been wearing yesterday. “It’s not like I have dealt with those situations before.”

Keith blinked and then shook his head. “I’m not looking for you to defend yourself, Lance. I wanted to apologize for putting you in that situation.”

The mage clicked his tongue and moved over to his potions again. “I assure you, I am able to control myself. The likelihood –”

“I am not doubting your abilities. I made you remember a painful memory. I’ve worked with plenty of mages, and memories that bring up strong emotions make them lose a small amount of control. The ice patch that you created was normal.”

Lance didn’t look at the seeker, but Keith saw his shoulders slump as he continued to stir and evaluate his work. “I appreciate hearing that.”

Keith blushed lightly. It had only been three days of knowing Lance and already every time he opened his mouth, Keith was prepared for a sarcastic quip. Even when he was telling his story last night, there was that dryness in his voice he equated to unwilling acceptance. But the voice Lance just spoke with, even distracted, full and void of that dry humor Keith had been subject to.

“I, uh, you’re welcome.”

Lance looked up and smirked, not missing the way Keith stuttered. He straightened, one hand propped on his hip and the other still stirring a potion. “Is that all you needed to say at the crack of dawn, Seeker?”

There it was. Keith felt himself relax and stepped up to the banter. “It’s Keith. Just Keith.”

“Oh-ho? Explain the ‘all-seeing-eye’ emblazoned everywhere on your armor, _Keith._ ” Even in jest, Keith fought down a shiver and a blush. His name sounded too good falling out of Lance’s mouth-

_Maker, Keith, get it together._

He scowled back at Lance. “It’s the sign of the Inquisition.”

Lance rolled his eyes and pulled the stirrer out of the pot, tapped it a few times before setting it down. “Yes, but only the Seekers get a shield with the Eye on it,” he crooned as he brushed by him, winking.

The nerve of this man.

Keith glared and retorted, “Just because I have the title, doesn’t mean I like to be referred by it.”

Lance laughed and walked by him, flasks in hand. “You don’t get a rush from being referred to with your title? What a strange Seeker you are, Keith.”

The seeker rolled his eyes and followed Lance closer to where he was working, prepping the flasks with splash of water and dumping it out the window before pouring his potion into them. The current brew he was working with was bright red, almost as vibrant as blood.

Keith let his curiosity get the better of him. “What are these potions?”

Corking a flask, Lance glanced up at him. He swirled it a few times before setting it on the desk and letting it settle. “It’s a healing potion. Does nothing to really close wounds, but it does restore some energy and slows bleeding some.”

He hummed and watched Lance do the same thing until all the flasks were full. He kept out of the way as Lance bustled around. The next potion to be poured was a glowing blue. Lyrium.

“I thought you said you were out of lyrium?” he asked.

“I managed to find a small deposit last night,” Lance explained, pouring it into several small vials. “It wasn’t great quality, nothing like back at those caves yesterday.”

“There’s different qualities?”

Lance grinned and handed him one of the vials. “See how this potion is thick and fairly cloudy?”

Keith held the vial up, letting the light catch it. The liquid moved slower than the health potion Lance had just poured, and it not nearly as clear as some of the other lyrium potions he had seen other mages use. Allura's, in particular, were nearly as clear as spring water.

Lance continued to explain, “The fogginess comes from all the extra mineral deposits that end up in the lyrium ore. For the Hinterlands, this isn’t that bad, but the vein I had found before it turned to red lyrium was the clearest in the area I’ve come across.”

"There's an enchantress who's lyrium is almost as clear as water. She imports it from Orlais."

"Of course she does," Lance scoffed, disdain dripping from his voice.

"She doesn't keep it all to herself."

"Oh, I'm sure she holds a soft spot for all mages from the circles. Orlais isn't forgiving about apostates either."

Keith sighed and looked away from Lance. He could practically feel the other man bristling from the mere mention of anyone from the Inquisition.

"Why do you hate the Inquisition again?" He asked, exasperated.

The mage continued about his business with his potions, pouring more vials of a third dark liquid. As a seeker, Keith could feel the power coming off of it.

"It comes to most of the Inquisition thinking they are right, all-knowing, and overconfident in their abilities. They disrupted everything and make too much noise."

Lance sounded like a pouting child and Keith couldn't stop the huff of laughter escaping him. "It sounds more like a personal reason than the Inquisition disturbing your way of life, Lance." He met the mage's icy glare, bemused.

Lance narrowed his eyes. "Look, you may show up here before the sun does, avert a panic attack, and help save my life from a dragon, but that doesn't entitle you to more of my personal life than I am willing to give. Last night was an exception. That's all you're going to get, Seeker."

Keith raised his hands in surrender. “Fair enough, I didn’t mean to pry.”

That seemed to do the trick. Lance settled and finished pouring out all of his potions, one a darker red and similar to the one he started with and the other was an odd green mix and smelled horrible. Lance was unperturbed by the smells while Keith fought the need to retch. The mage packed them all away into separate trunks, divisions in place to keep them from breaking. The sides were burned and some of the edges were splintering. It honestly looked like Lance had simply grabbed these from an abandoned cart and repurposed them.

Lance just carried on, seeming to forget that Keith was even standing in the middle of his home. Keith didn't mind too much, he was used to watching Allura, the enchantress from Orlais, as she worked about her potions and spells. She muttered to herself much more than Lance did, and it was always funny to see her jump when he made a remark on one of her comments. Made for a good laugh, especially when he shared an evening drink with Shiro or Pidge. But Lance simply flipped through the pages of the two books on his desk, making notes in the one on the left with a piece of charcoal. He drew diagrams, lines of spells running along the side of the page he was working on.

Keith took it all in; the way Lance moved, his facial expressions as he concentrated and figured something out. Even the way he folded his lean body into the chair at his desk, one foot propped up on the seat, knee close to his chest and the other stretched out to the side. It was amazing that a position like that could even be considered comfortable. Yet Lance scrawled away in one book, full lines appearing on the page while making minor notes in the other. It was amazing to watch. Allura rarely took notes, reading tombs and immediately understanding them.

He took a couple steps closer and looked over Lance’s shoulder, reading what he was writing. From what he could tell, Lance was actually taking the difficult spells in one book and simplifying them down.

“Why are you altering these spells?” he asked.

Lance glanced over his shoulder. “It makes them easier to cast, not so much of my power is spent going through the chanting.”

“You’re the only mage I’ve seen do this.”

“Not many bother to learn beyond memorization, even the circle mages.” With that, Lance wrote down one final line and closed both books. He stood up and Keith stepped back to give him room.

By now the sun was well on its way to its high point in the sky and the air had warmed up. Lance's home had been warm to begin with, even with the breeze flowing through it, but now it was becoming uncomfortable for Keith. He pulled at his neckline and moved to a window to catch more of the breeze.

"If the armor is so uncomfortable, why do you wear it?" Lance asked as he packed up his workstation.

“Part of the uniform.”

He snorted. “The Inquisition has a uniform? Maker, you lot really are a cult.”

Keith rolled his eyes. "Not a cult, just an organization," he shot back.

Lance’s blue eyes flashed humor and Keith found himself grinning. The owner of the hut pulled on his boots, also taking the time to place two golden necklaces over his head. “I’m heading to the river; you’re welcome to join me.”

He lifted his bag onto his shoulder and walked to the door, not waiting to see if Keith was following him before stepping outside.

Keith, later that night, was embarrassed to say how close he was when he followed Lance out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scream at us on tumblr!!!
> 
> Mogi: [thespace-dragon](http://thespace-dragon.tumblr.com/)  
> Ani: [aniscribbles](http://aniscribbles.tumblr.com/)


	4. Shadows that Follow You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Lance have some bonding time and Shiro issues an order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOOOOKAYYYY, yes this fic is still alive, I promise!! Ani and I have been very busy with life. If you have been following me on tumblr, you probably have seen the "buy me a coffee" buttons on my blog and a post floating around on it. Instead of boring you guys in the notes here, I'll explain at the end of the chatper. Enjoy the chap!
> 
> Note: Please no reposting of the art from Ani on any other platform, she works to hard to have that happen. Thanks! :D

Things became a routine. Over the past week, Keith visited Lance in the morning before having to disappear to fulfill in Inquisition duties. Most of the time it required him to go to either Redcliffe or Haven to help the refugees, sometimes it was the small refugee camp in the middle of the Hinterlands that demanded his attention. If he had a scouting mission, Lance would tag along. He found it surprising that Keith was easy to talk to. Not many accepted the fact that he was an apostate and had a fragile hold on his magic.

More than once they saved each other's lives. Rifts would open before Keith would realize what was going on, a shade forcing itself into existence just before him. Lance was pretty quick with his staff and creating distance between the multiple other spirits that appears seconds later. When he closed the first rift, Keith had yanked on his hand to inspect for a solid minute, asking rapid-fire questions about the Mark and the rifts themselves. Another time was when they were searching for a new lyrium vein and a ledge crumbled under Lance as he peered over it into the dark abyss of the cave system they were in. He wound up with a bruise on his neck from Keith yanking him back to solid ground so quickly. He had berated Keith for that the rest of the day, but the underlying thanks for saving his life was there. Keith fired back his own complaints, grinning the whole time.

All in all, Lance was finding himself with a new companion, and he actually accepted it, liked it even. He found out a lot of things about Keith during their little outings. For one, Keith had been a Templar before becoming a Seeker, raised as a knight since he was six or seven. He has had a sword in his hand since he was thirteen, and he was fifteen by the time he was a full-fledged Templar, by sixteen he accepted the chance to become a Seeker. That had been when the Conclave exploded and they were all thrust into this mess. It was almost a shock to find out that Lance was younger than Keith, the Seeker honestly thought the mage was older. Maybe it was dealing with the rifts on his own took a much deeper toll than Lance originally thought.

Currently, they were sitting on the bank of a river, having just closed a rift. Lance's hand was on fire, the Mark always hurt when he used it as if it were drawing out more magic power than he knew how to use or even had. He had his glove off and his hand was in the cool water.

“I can’t believe you would do this by yourself,” Keith huffed as she sat down heavily, armor clattering as he shucked off his breastplate to cool off. “How’d you manage?”

Lance quickly pulled his eyes away from the tight undershirt Keith was wearing, his muscles basically on full display. He stared down at the swirling mark on his hand and shrugged. “Figured out some force magic and other trap spells to keep them away from me. The smaller rifts are easy enough, but the larger one I stay away from.”

Keith pulled his hair back into a ponytail, bangs still flopping free, but he cherished the cool breeze on his neck. "Why’s that?”

Lance leveled him a look. “Don’t know about you, but going against a Pride Demon is asking to die.”

“You have a point,” Keith laughed.

Lance smiled and leaned back, pulling his hand out of the water. It felt remarkably better now, the Mark having calmed down. The barrier between the real world and the fade was still thin here, but it was holding. The rift seal would take a much more powerful spirit than shades and wraiths to rip open again. He pulled on his glove, flexing his fingers.

"Is the Mark the only reason why you wear just one glove?" Keith asked. He was sitting cross-legged next to the pile of armor.

Lance looked out across the river, something about Keith’s inquisitive stare forced him to look away. It didn’t hold judgment, just open curiosity. It baffled him that Keith was bothering to get to know him, but Lance found himself so desperate for human interaction that he welcomed Keith into his life, albeit slowly.

“Part of the reason.” He looked down at his now gloved palm. “Magic leaves marks, and this one makes people believe that I am someone who I’m not.”

Keith didn’t say anything, and Lance continued on, comparing both of his hands. “One hand is calloused from not wearing a glove, while the other holds a mark that could be the saving grace this world needs, or the end of it all.”

The sun sparkled off the water, the sky was clear, everything was so beautifully green and healthy, but in the blink of an eye, it could be ruins. In his mind’s eye, Lance could see the possible outcomes. He could see himself delivering the Marker’s power to Zarkon and letting the world end, letting himself end. On the other hand, he could see himself struggling. At first it had been by himself, but now Keith was there fighting beside him, closing the rifts, confronting Zarkon and whatever faced them in between now and then.

Lance clenched his fist and wrapped his other hand around it, feeling the soft worn leather against his skin. He didn’t want to give up, despite all the times of thinking of how easy it could be, he didn’t. He was finding the Hinterlands to be a beautiful place, all thanks to Keith. For five years, Lance kept himself locked away in that hut, only venturing out when he had to. In the span of a few days, going on a week, Keith had carefully drawn him out, and Lance…he finally felt happy. He was happy with Keith sitting there on the ground next to him, enjoying the sun as much as he was.

“What makes you feel that way?” Keith asked, breaking him out of his reverie. “Is it because of what Zarkon said at the Conclave?”

“Yes and no.” Lance rubbed his thumb against the back of his hand. “Zarkon did preach about becoming a new god, wanting to take the black throne that is supposedly up there. But it’s also the people. I figured out how to close the rifts along the way here from the Wildes. People saw me.”

“What’d they say?”

Lance scoffed and rolled his eyes. “It was always the same few questions: Are you the Hand of the Maker? Are you Andraste’s Chosen? Can you ask the Maker to save us?" He was never one for religion, and this did nothing to improve his opinion of it. “And, well, I don’t believe in that.”

He could feel Keith’s eyes on him and Lance kept his focus on the water. He felt stupid for saying that, he was one of the rare few who didn’t believe in the Maker. Andraste was believable considering she was an actual person in their history, but beyond that Lance couldn’t find it in himself. Letting some omnipotent deity rule over them felt like they had no purpose, no reason to be who they were because some other being already decided it for them. Lance wanted to be his own person, and lately he felt like he was crowded into this little labeled box just so people could understand him.

“I figured you weren’t religious,” Keith mused. Lance glanced at him and Keith was staring up at the trees. “I don’t blame you either, you grew up in a household that didn’t preach it. I grew up with Templars and the Seekers could be considered radicals, but we do try to help without hurting anyone. We ‘seek’ the truth, the truth of the Maker, the reasoning behind Andraste and her followers.”

Lance gave a cruel of huff of laughter. “Do you damn the ones that don’t follow the Maker or Andraste?”

Keith looked at him then, eyebrows raised. “Why would I do that? Why would we? People are all different. Most mages don’t follow the Maker to begin with, they just keep quiet about it.” He blinked and a sincere look blossomed on his face. “I wouldn’t punish you for being yourself just because we don’t believe in the same things, Lance. _That_ would be cruel.”

He couldn’t look at Keith. Lance lowered his eyes to the ground, nodding slightly. Where had Keith been when he needed to hear that? In the five years that he was alone, he hadn’t realized that he needed to hear that. _I wouldn’t punish you for being yourself._ It was a such a simple concept of leaving people alone, not trying to control them. He remembered how his mother told him to always be proud of himself, no matter what people thought of him. He had to believe in himself before he could make people believe in him.

_“You have a brilliant mind, Lance,” she had said, “Do not let it go to waste thinking over what people whisper behind your back. You are a powerful mage, smart and kind, and I am proud to call you my son.”_

Lance looked out over the river again, a small smile playing on his lips. His mother would have boxed his ears if she knew he had gone exactly against that and locked himself away in a hut in the middle of the woods. At least when she was alive they would venture to the other mages’ homes or to the town to gather news.

They stayed quiet, listening to the birds sing and the water gurgle over the rocks. It was peaceful. The first sense of peace Lance had felt in a long time.

* * *

It was dusk by the time Keith returned to Haven. The scouting trip took much longer than he had told Shiro, but he could say he was attacked by rifts along the way. His armor was still covered in the slime wraiths and shades left behind when they attacked, once a glowing green, now sickly and crusted. He would have to spend the night cleaning and oiling it down.

He walked through all the tents and campfires, greeting the few Templars that were here, as well as the quartermaster and the spies Reiner handled. They acted more like scouts, but they operated under a level of secrecy that Keith wasn’t privy to.

The chantry stood tall in the back of the small town, lording over the whole of it. He was heading to meet with Shiro and Allura. Slav would be there too, but he was just for the personal relations the Inquisition needed for funds and support. Shiro and Allura were running it as best as they could without declaring an Inquisitor to lead them, but Keith knew that they were going to have to declare one soon if they were going to maintain any momentum.

Keith shouldered his way through the doors, and continued towards the back of the chantry. He could hear the shouting between Slav, Shiro, and Allura. ‘Rifts’ and ‘Inquisitor’ were repeated multiple times.

“We need an Inquisitor to gather the people to us,” Shiro was saying. “Right now we have no one to rally under and the recruits we do have are half-assing it because there’s no sense of urgency.”

“And I’m telling you that we need someone who can close the rifts to lead us. We can do nothing about them or Zarkon because he can create them at will. The Inquisition would be left to his mercy without such a person," Allura shot back.

Keith hesitated to knock on the door and announce himself, his mind flashing back to the ever growing smile and vivid blue eyes from the forest. Lance expressed not wanting anything to do with this, and Keith was doing his best to respect his new friend’s wishes. The mage was troubled enough, and leading an organization such as the Inquisition was going to be detrimental to his health.

Slav scratched away at the parchment loudly, his mutterings about numbers and the royals from Ferelden or Orlais could barely be heard in between Shiro and Allura’s increasingly heated comments.

This wasn’t going to go well, but if he didn’t get them to stop, all of Haven was going to know the Inquisition was falling apart. And that was something that he couldn’t afford.

He barged through the door and shouted, “Enough! If the three of you are going to create such a racket, the refugees and anyone else in this town are never going to sleep!”

All three of them silenced themselves. Allura glared at a wall, her impeccably white hair loose around her face and falling to the small of her back. He cheeks were dusky with anger, frustration clear as day on her face. Shiro was leaning over the map in the center of the room, hands planted on the edge of the table. His jaw was set and his eyes were flicking over the map, checking each marker that was there. Slav was off to the side, still scratching away on his board of parchment.

As a Seeker, Keith’s opinion held some weight, and co-leading with the three of them was taxing. Of course it didn’t help that Keith ran away at any given chance to go wander the woods with a certain mage that held the key to saving them but was too scared of himself to help.

“Any news on the rifts?”

Shiro had straightened and fixed Keith with a stare. The Seeker shook his head. “Closing them is still impossible without the right power, spirits are still entering the Hinterlands through them, and it is possible that the rifts are spreading out of the area.”

The ex-Templar cursed and glared at the map. “We cannot do anything until we have declared an Inquisitor.”

“That is very true,” Slav spoke with a thick Orlesian accent. “We cannot gather allies or funds unless there is someone to represent us. The nobles of Orlais refuse to speak with us until then.” The tall and lanky man went back to scribbling numbers, his piece done.

“And what I have been trying to say is that we need some way to close the rifts, whether it is a person or a spell Coran or Lotor comes up with, we cannot move forward until then." Allura’s terse words rang throughout the small meeting room.

Shiro glared at her. “We can move forward under a united front while still looking for ways to close the rifts. We _need_ someone to lead.”

All three of them looked at Keith. He knew they wanted him to lead, but his hotheadedness has lead him to more problems than he could count, and putting him in charge of a growing number of people was asking for disaster. On top of that, his political skills were the worst amongst them.

“No, I have told you all time and time again that I cannot lead the Inquisition. A leader will appear for us, I know it, but for right now we must get along and at the very least act like we can work together.”

He watched as each of their shoulders slumped slightly, Keith knew that he was killing their chances, but he couldn’t do it. And neither could the rest of them. Allura was essentially using this as a study, a way to increase her magical prowess for when she went back to the Orlesian court. Keith admired her will to be here, but she was too full of herself to be an effective leader. Shiro had potential, coming with a few Templars from Kirkwall to assist with the mage uprising in Ferelden. The Champion of Kirkwall had the city-state there under control and peace between the Qunari, mages, elves, and Templars had been reached. But what he had seen and experienced there made him quit being a Templar. Nightmares and a fear of his dependence on lyrium making his decisions unstable. Their bookkeeper, Slav, had ties in nearly every place Keith could think of, but lacked the ability to lead a large number. The small meetings it took to gain an alliance and supporters were what he was most suited for. Facts and a fair amount of persuasion made their worries about funds almost nonexistent at the beginning, but as time wore on, their donations slowed because they were making no progress.

Allura had connections with the mage circles, Shiro with the Templars and the capability to lead an army, and Slav with his never ending computing knowledge and political connections made for a potent mixture. If Keith could have his way, he would make them a singular person and this whole situation would be dealt with. Alas, they were three and their personalities clashed, even with Keith serving as a mediator.

“Look, no one said that this would be easy. I am glad that you all came to help the Inquisition, the organization that I called for in order to end the rife in this world. Ferelden, Orlais, and the surrounding countries all need us to work together. The people are counting on us.” He just needed to remind them of their purpose again. “An Inquisitor will step forward when the time is right.”

“What will you have us do in the time being?” Shiro asked.

Keith sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Do the best you can to gather supporters.”

Allura frowned. “And what will you be doing?”

“What my title says to do: Seek.” Keith turned towards the doorway and spoke over his shoulder. “Get some rest tonight, more can be discussed tomorrow.”

He walked back out to the chantry. He needed a drink with Pidge…and a hearty meal.

* * *

Once his armor was cleaned, he tracked down Pidge. The elf was notorious for hanging around the wrong fires and causing mischief. Generally, she hung around the small tavern in Haven, or was conspiring with Reiner and their spies.

Thankfully she was already in the tavern and Keith didn’t have to spend much time looking for her.

“Pidge! Get down from the rafters and have a drink with me!” he called.

Pidge looked down at him, feet kicking in the air. “And what you got to tell me if I do?”

Keith smirked and walked to a table. “You’ll never know if you don’t come down.”

A waitress passed and deposited a stein of ale just as Pidge dropped from the rafters grumbling, not a drop of her cup spilled. She glided over, the elf’s gate as smooth as a cat’s.

Pidge fell into a chair across from him, green eyes alight with curiosity. “Let’s hear it, what made you drag me down from my brilliant view?”

“You haven’t noticed how the rifts are closing around the area?” he asked, sipping his drink. Keith watched as Pidge’s screwed itself up into a scowl.

“Yes and its fucking irritating to not know how it’s happening.” She chugged the last of her drink and slammed it on the table. “So what do you know?”

Keith’s smirk widened into a grin. It was amazing how a few hours in between talking with the Inquisition council and now really changed how he approached things. The council wanted to use Lance’s ability for their own gains, Keith was very well aware of that. But Pidge only wanted to meet this enigmatic individual who Keith has been hinting at for a week or so. Pidge didn’t care what you were able to do, just who you were. Reiner always had a hard time with her when they needed her for spying, but in the end, Pidge always gave an entertaining report.

“It’s a mage,” he said simply, taking another sip.

Pidge narrowed her eyes behind her huge glasses, a device she begged Lotor for. Her pair from Val Royeaux got lost or stolen. Pidge insisted on them being stolen; apparently almost everyone had bad eyesight and she was the only one to realize that glass could help fix that.

“A mage.” Her ears lowered, unimpressed. “That’s all you got? There’s a fucking clan of mages in the Hinterlands, and you’re telling me that there is one, a singular mage, running around and closing the rifts that have plagued the Inquisition since Zarkon tore a fucking hole in the sky?"

Keith nodded and flagged another waitress down for food. “That is exactly what I’m saying.” Seconds later, a heaping plate of food was placed in front of him and he tore into it.

Pidge scowled and looked away, thumping her elbow onto the table and dropping her chin into her waiting palm. “Ya know, for a Seeker, you are dreadful at sharing information, Keith. Isn’t sharing a part of your code or something?”

“Sumthin’ li’ dat,” he said around a mouthful of food.

The elf rolled her eyes and pouted. Her gaze flicked around the room, looking at everyone. The small tavern was fuller than normal tonight, judging by the noise level. More of the scouts were back and Rolo was telling stories by the fire. A bard sang from another corner and a few joined in with her, recounting the tale of the Hero of Ferelden and Champion of Kirkwall.

Keith swallowed more food down and chased it with ale. He sighed with contentment, feeling at ease for the first time since he got here.

“So where have you been disappearing off to? Not even the scouts take that long to make rounds around the valley.” Pidge was pinning him underneath her vibrant green stare. Of course she would notice.

Keith shrugged and spooned his food around his plate. “I keep finding the rifts and fighting them off enough to get away takes a lot of work.”

As much as he liked and trusted Pidge, he couldn’t exactly tell her about Lance. Teasing her with small bits of information was one thing, out right telling her about him was another. Lance made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with the Inquisition and Pidge was smart, she would fit all that he had told her together and figure it out. She would know that Lance was the one closing the rifts, know that Keith was technically shirking his duties by spending every day with the man.

The other thing though, was that Keith wanted to share about Lance. Lance was amazing. Intelligent, cynical, caring, patient (when he wanted to be), funny – all things made him a well-rounded individual whom Keith wanted to spend his time with. Lance was certainly more interesting than Shiro, Allura, or Slav. Hell, he was nicer to talk to than Rolo.

But maybe he was a little biased now… he has spent more time with Lance than he has Rolo. And it had only been a week.

“Uh-huh… and this has nothing to do with that one person you’ve been seeing, right?”

Keith ducked into his tankard, taking a gulp to avoid answering. He really hoped that he wasn’t blushing, the way Pidge phrased their question implied he had been doing other ‘things’ with Lance. While he would… like to, he couldn’t.

“I have friends, Pidge,” he managed, “That shouldn’t be news to you.”

Pidge scoffed. "And normally by now, I would have met them, known their name, and what they did for a living. You-" she pointed at him "-have been holding out on me."

The Seeker shrugged and nursed his cup. Eventually he would tell her, but now wasn’t the right time. He and Lance were still figuring each other out, claiming that they were friends was sometimes a stretch, especially on days where Lance was recovering from closing a large rift. Even in the week that he has known the mage, Lance had shown progress. Closing the smaller rifts were much easier, and the larger ones only held the challenge based on what came through it. There had been one time Keith had spotted a rather large demon wandering the woods near a rift and Lance had dragged him in the opposite direction, muttering curses and random phrases of spells that made little sense to Keith.

He smiled a little at that memory. Lance had grabbed his arm and kept him close, close enough to feel the warmth from his exposed body. He had been wearing that revealing tunic again – the one he normally paired with dark leggings, boots, and a ragged sash. The shirt matched the sash, but left much of Lance’s chest exposed. The necklaces, the glove, the wrist to elbow leather bracers, and the rings he wore all seemed to fall into this chaotic cohesion that Keith couldn't help but stare at. Lance was something else, and the way he kept Keith on his –

“Okay, Seeker, spill. What has you daydreaming? You look ready for the fade to swallow you.” Pidge’s eyes gleamed.

At some point, while he was lost in his own mind, Pidge had changed to sit right in front of him, cross-legged on the table. She peered down at him, a mischievous curl to her lips.

“It’s about this _friend_ isn’t it?”

Keith scowled up at her and didn’t say anything, choosing to take another swallow from his cup.

Pidge sighed, that concerning smile still playing at her mouth. “Ya know, Keith, if I didn't know you any better…" She chuckled, her head dipping and shoulders shaking. Maker, Keith was screwed. "I'd say – I'd say that you-you were – pff hahaha, Maker, you were in love!”

The elf tipped sideways on the table, dissolving into a fit of laughter that left tears streaming down her face. Keith’s face felt like it was on fire, his blush raging across his cheeks. He could tell the other patrons were looking at them while Pidge howled with laughter. He knew he should have held his tongue when it came to Lance, it was going to bite him in the ass one of these days. Tonight was the night he guessed.

“I a-am not!” he said indignantly. His denial only made Pidge howl louder.

So loud that when the door slammed open and Shiro strode in, she was the only one making a sound. Shiro never entered the tavern, the food and ale reminding him of his days as a Templar. The commander eyed the whole room, a stern frown on his face. When they found Keith with Pidge still laughing on the table, they narrowed and Shiro quickly made his way over.

Keith tightened his grip on this tankard. Shiro’s expression was not one he wanted to see. Ever. It was dark, angry, cloudy, and ready to issue orders. He could argue against them as a Seeker, but the commander could easily lift him by the shirt and pin him to the wall if he wanted to. It wouldn’t be the first or last time Shiro has done something like that to get Keith to cooperate.

“Seeker Kogane.”

Keith stilled and Pidge sobered up some but was still giggling on the table.

“Commander,” he acknowledged with a sip of ale, avoiding Shiro’s gaze.

Shiro leaned down, hand gripping the corner of the table, eyes blazing. “Is there a reason why you are withholding information about a mage that is closing the rifts?”

Keith still didn't look up. How the fuck did Shiro find out? "I only managed to observe the rift being closed today, I couldn't tell if it was the mage or an outside influence."

The commander leaned closer, whispering heatedly into Keith’s ear. “You will find that mage and bring them here. Word just came in that rift at the Conclave has been active.”

His grip on this cup was tight, his knuckles white. He nodded mechanically, keeping his face as neutral as possible. He couldn’t bring Lance here, he had to get him out of the Hinterlands. Lance would not survive being a tool of the Inquisition. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t.

“The council will meet them tomorrow, or you’re dismissed, Seeker.” Shiro spun on his heel and stormed out, people scrambling to get away.

Once Shiro was out of the tavern, the music slowly began again, albeit far more muted than before. Rolo wasn’t storytelling, and people were steering clear of his and Pidge’s table.

The elf rolled to the side, facing Keith and propping her head up on a fist. “It’s been a long while since Shiro has issued you orders like that,” she mused.

Keith set his stein on the table and made to stand. “Good night, Pidge.”

He had to get to Lance, tell him to leave, he wouldn’t subject his friend to the servitude of the Inquisition.

Keith left without waiting for Pidge’s response. He went to his small cabin and pulled on his armor. He had to be quick before Haven closed their gates for the night. A night in the wilderness was of little concern to him, his focus was on informing Lance.

He slipped out of the gate and practically ran into the woods, following his normal trail.

He never saw the shadow following behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scream at us on tumblr:  
> Ani: [aniscribbles](http://aniscribbles.tumblr.com/)  
> Me: [thespace-dragon](http://thespace-dragon.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Art Link: Reblog it here!! (will be live when the post is made)
> 
> Alright, so here's the deal. Life has been fucking hard for me lately and with working a full-time job and I simply do not have the time to get another job. I know it's possible but I dont have the energy after working with young kids all day (I work at a daycare). So I have set up a Paypal and Ko-fi account that people can donate to me with.
> 
> With the Ko-fi, I am doing a sort of a commission like thing in order to give back. 1 Coffee = 1 thousand words. As I have been saying on my blog, when you donate, on the comments section, leave your url, the character/pairing of your choice (and for the sake of avoiding drama I am not accepting romantic shaladin ships, platonic is fine), and a setting (ie coffee shop or boyband) and I will get around to writing it for you. It may be a slow turnaround, but I will get to them. If you have an AO3, I will gift it to you here as well as posting it and tagging you on tumblr.
> 
> I really appreciate it all support, you all are the best and I love you so much! I would hate to be forced to stop writing for the fandom because all of your reactions make my day. Thank you <3
> 
> EDIT: Since I've been seeing more works being deleted, I decided to take my links down just for safe keeping. (I have multiple copies of all the chapters anyways but still, let me be paranoid) Anywhoodles, all the links are on my tumblr. ^^


	5. Thanks, but No Thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ways to turn down an offer, written by Lance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD WE ARE SO SORRY FOR MAKING THE WAIT SO LONG. It was never my intention to make you guys wait this long, but gosh, life got busy, for both of us xD
> 
> But yo, guys, the art?? Yall are gonna die. I died. Just, omg.

The forest had him on edge, sharper than he had been ever before. Shadows were so deep the inky black swallowed everything that came close to it. Keith hurried through the trees, following the path he had memorized from all the previous times he had visited Lance in the woods. It was never advisable to travel at night; the apostates moved around a lot more in the dark, while the Templars ruled the day. Keith’s clinking armor gave him away as he moved; he just hoped that it was only animals and the wind that were rustling the foliage around him.

He also hoped that Lance was still up. He slept like the dead and Keith would much rather have Lance complaining about having to move rather than a broken door. But if it really came down to it, Keith could certainly kick the door in no problem.

He heard Shiro’s words echo in his head. _Find that mage and bring them to the Inquisition. The Conclave rift has been active._ Dread seeped through his veins, making his steps rushed and clumsy, causing him to trip more times than he wanted to admit. There had to be other mages like Lance out there, ones that could handle the stress of being ordered around. It’s what the Inquisition needed. Lance wasn’t any of that. He could almost be considered a free spirit, albeit jaded to the point of being cynical. The mage followed his own path, forging ahead by himself and expecting no help from anyone else. Taking orders went against his personality, and while he may have some leadership qualities, they weren’t enough to make him the kind of effective leader the Inquisition needed to rally behind.

Keith stumbled over another tree root, his hands catching the ground and shoving him back upright as he kept moving. He only had the night. Come sunrise, Shiro was going to be on his ass till the ‘mage’ was found. Lance had to be out of the Hinterlands by then.

He finally came across Lance’s clearing and his stride never broke as he rushed to the door. Practically falling against it, Keith pounded on it urgently.

“Lance! I need you to open the door!” His voice was high with desperation, words punching out as he panted.

He kept banging on the door, so much so that he almost missed Lance's grumbling on the other side. The door opened unexpectedly and Keith's fist would have hit Lance right in the face if the mage hadn't caught it.

Keith inhaled sharply, trying to keep air in his lungs but he was wound so tight that he could feel himself starting to tear at the seams. He lowered his fist and shoved Lance deeper into his home, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Keith, what the fuck?” Lance hissed, slapping Keith’s hand away. “What the hell are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

“You need to leave. Now.”

Lance stared at him incredulously. “What? Have you lost your goddamn mind? I can’t just leave, Keith.”

“Lance, that’s not the point!” Keith nearly shouted. He turned away and tried to calm himself. They didn’t have time for this.

“Then what is the point? You came here in the middle of the night telling me to leave, what the fuck happened?”

"Lance –" The Seeker started to pace back and forth in front of the mage, pulling at his hair and struggling to get himself under control. It's been so long since he has felt the need to protect, and so strongly too. It was overwhelming. It was too much. He couldn't handle it.

“The Inquisition knows about you.”

Lance was silent for a long moment, his blue eyes icy when Keith faced them again. The mage had his guard up again, just like that first day they had met.

 _“You told them about me?”_ Lance bit out, anger seething underneath his entire being.

"I didn't tell them about you!" Keith threw up his hands in a placating gesture. "But we have this spy network and they must have seen something while you closed one of the rifts and reported back to Shiro. Now he wants you back at Haven to – to – to… I don't know, become a tool. You can't, they would – fuck, Lance, it would nearly kill you, I'm sure of it. You can't join the Inquisition," Keith rambled. He didn't see how Lance reacted. "They would make you the Inquisitor too, people would look to you as the symbol of who's fighting against the monsters coming through the sky and Zarkon. But really it's Shiro, Allura, and Slav pulling the strings. I can suggest things, and challenge them on stuff, but in the end, they get the final say, and they would just use you as a tool and a figurehead, Lance. You would be miserable. You already hate the Inquisition and you want nothing to do with it, but if you don't leave the Hinterlands, they're going to force you to join."

While Keith was talking, Lance’s face morphed from anger to shock to fear. His eyes were wide and his breath puffed out in frosted pants. More frost collected on his hands and Lance took a fearful step back.

“No…”

Keith's heart went out to this man. He hadn't done a thing to deserve this, and it all started with Lance simply wanting to follow in his mother's footsteps. Lance looked scared and vulnerable, ready to bolt at any second - at any sign of trouble. And Keith just delivered the worst kind of trouble Lance could imagine – even compared to a Frostback.

Keith was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he nearly missed Lance’s question.

“How… how did they find me?”

The Seeker honestly didn't know what to tell him, he didn't even know for sure if it was the spies that found Lance.  It was only an assumption that the Inquisition's spy network saw something. But it couldn't have been Pidge. She wouldn't say something to Shiro about Lance. Hell, she didn't even know Lance's name. It had to be one of the spies, it was the only logical explanation.

“I don’t – I don’t know. It had to be one of the spies because I haven’t told anyone about you. You have to believe me on that.

Lance laughed darkly at that. “Well, like that did any good. I should have known getting mixed up with anyone from the Inquisition was going to be trouble.”

Keith winced and looked away, too many emotions boiling underneath his skin. It was all his fault anyways. He had been the one to seek out Lance, from the dragon’s nest up until now. This had all started with him.

“I’m sorry…”

The mage made a noncommittal noise. “Look, Keith, it’s – ugh,” Lance groaned and scratched the back of his neck. “This whole mess is Maker’s shit,” he finished, hand dropping to his side.

Keith looked at him again and their eyes met. They stared at each other for a long moment. Potions bubbled in the background and the breeze wafted through the hut, rustling the leaves gently. Keith didn't know what to say and Lance was lost in his train of thought, withdrawing into himself.

Lance sighed, shoulders slumping. He looked defeated and Keith’s heart fell even more.

“There’s just… there’s nowhere for me to go…” Lance sat down heavily in his chair. He sighed and ran a hand down his face, looking haggard and far older than his actual age.

“Lance, I –”

He held up a hand, interrupting Keith. “I think you’ve done enough.”

“But –”

“No. Just… just go.”

Keith clamped his mouth shut. His friend looked so defeated, so worn down and ready to give up. He didn’t have it in him to fight to stay. It wasn’t like Keith was going to go with. He couldn’t.

He made his way to the door and paused, turning to look back at Lance. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry about this.”

And Keith left.

* * *

“Keith! Keith, you need to get up!”

The seeker groggily rolled over, fiercely resenting whoever was trying to wake him up. The walk back from Lance’s home was long, and he hadn’t returned till early morning. Now, he knew that the sun was rising above the horizon, but there was no way in hell that he was going to get up on two hours of sleep.

The person groaned. “Keith, I swear to the Maker if you don’t get up, I’m stealing everything you own. Including your socks.”

As inconvenient as that would be, it still wasn’t enough for Keith to get up. They could fuck off.

His blanket disappeared, letting the cool autumn air waft over him. It was fine, everything was fine. Keith pulled his pillow over his face and motioned for the other person to just leave. Whatever it was, he could deal with it in a few more hours.

“Keith, you fuck –” his pillow was yanked away “– you fucking fuck!” Each word was punctuated with a hit from his pillow over his head. “That mage is here! Shiro found him! Get your fucking ass up and let’s go or else Shiro is going to fucking lose it!”

Keith immediately sat up, eyes barely open. “Mage… Lance? Shiro has…?”

The person in his room shoved his clothes into his chest, glasses glinting in the lamplight. “Yes! Now get a move on before Shiro permanently hurts him!”

He rubbed the sleep off his face and blinked at Pidge, slowly pulling his shirt over his head. “How’d Shiro find him?”

Pidge through her hands up in the air. "Fuck if I know! All I know is that Reiner left last night, came back, left with two Templars, and then came back with him." She leveled him a somber look. "He didn't look good, Keith… you better hurry."

She rushed out of Keith's room, the Seeker hot on her heels, jumping to get his pants and his boots on at the same time.

“What do you mean he doesn’t look good?” Keith got his boots on finally and caught up to the running elf. “Pidge? What did you mean?”

She huffed and pushed her glasses back up her nose. “Tie your shirt,” she said quickly. “But I meant he doesn’t look good. The Templars did a number on him, but it looked like he put up a fight. Reiner and – and the Templars were roughed up.”

Keith rolled his eyes and started lacing the front of his shirt. “Sounds like Lance. What else?”

“He was unconscious when he was brought into Haven. Shiro was pretty much…” Pidge trailed off and gave Keith a sympathetic look. Keith frowned and picked up the pace.

They rushed to the Chantry, where a crowd had gathered. Questions filled the air; confusion and concern bouncing off of each person, amplifying and building to a mob in front of the building. Keith and Pidge shoved their way to the front – most people recognized Keith for who he was and stepped respectfully out of the way, then filled in behind him. His elven friend nearly had to hold onto his shirt to stay with him.

When they got to the front, Templars were guarding the gigantic Chantry doors, creating a bubble around the entry. Keith burst through the front of the crowd, frowning at the Templars.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded.

They both straightened, coming to attention when they saw Keith. Both men shared a look before the one on the left addressed Keith.

“The council found the mage closing the rifts and brought him here, sir.” The man shifted around on his feet, armor rattling slightly.

Keith narrowed his eyes. “I heard that much. Is there anything else I should know?”

Again the men in front of Keith looked at each other. The same one spoke again, "The council said… not to let anyone in… sir."

Maker be damned if they did. That wasn't about to stop Keith from entering the Chantry.

“Open the doors.”

“But, sir –”

“Open. The. Doors.” Keith bit out, leaving no room for the Templar in front of him to ignore him. “Or would you like to be the one to explain to them why their only Seeker was left uninformed about this mage and what the Inquisition wants to do with him? I’m sure Commander Shiro will take that news splendidly.”

The Templar grimaced and the two of them moved to open the door for Keith. The Seeker turned to Pidge and told her to wait, thanking her for waking him.

“Just go make sure he’s alright. You don’t need a shorter list of friends.” She smirked.

Keith rolled his eyes and clapped her on the shoulder. The Chantry doors were open and Keith could feel the tension roiling within. He had better find Lance in one piece or this Chantry was going to fall to ruins.

* * *

Lance had been packing the bare essentials into a bag when his door splintered and fell to the ground, presenting him with the sight of two armored Templars in the entrance. He hadn't wasted any time calling upon spells to protect himself when they advanced on him with their swords and shields out. He could faintly hear a voice calling from behind them not to hurt him, but the impassive faces of the Templars' helms told him he was going to get hurt either way.

And like always, his gut was right.

Eventually, one of the Templars managed a lucky blow to his temple and Lance was swallowed by darkness.

When he came to, a splitting headache made him wince at the slightest movement but it wasn’t like he could move much to begin with. Chains were keeping his hands locked together, and they were linked to the floor. The flagstones bit into his knees and his ankles began to ache from being kept in that position for too long.

He groaned and forced his eyes open, blinking slowly as his sight adjusted to the lamplight. Maker, his body hurt. When had all that happened? He couldn’t remember the Templars managing to lay a hand on him before he was hit in the head.

His vision swam and he shook his head, trying to clear it. That only made it worse. Lance’s stomach lurched as vertigo overwhelmed him. He fought down the urge to regurgitate his meager dinner and lowered his chin to his chest, attempting to regulate his breathing.

Seconds later, he heard the door in front of him slam open. He flinched at the loud noise, hissing at the person who came in, practically stomping their boots.

“So,” they began – definitely male, probably in their middle-adult life by the sound of it. Lance didn’t bother to raise his head, the floor was swimming in front of him and he felt his stomach churn.

The man circled him and then came to a stop right in front. Lance peeked through his bangs to see a pair of worn leather boots, lined with fur.

“You’re the mage the whole valley has been talking about, it seems.”

Lance wanted to scoff, but the small huff he gave turned into a low gag as his stomach continued to fight him.

The man shifted, turning towards the door. “Fetch Allura and Lotor, he will need healing. Tell Thomas and Matthaeus that I wish to speak with them once this is done.”

“Yessir.” Another person raced off.

“Has there been any word about Seeker Kogane?”

“No, Commander. But we can confirm that he returned to his designated living area in the early hours of the morning. He might still be sleeping.”

“Ah. He will be informed later, don’t let anyone in.”

“Yessir.”

What were they doing talking about Keith? Keith was with the Inquisition, not the Templars prowling the Hinterlands. Lance blinked and his vision blurred even more. He was probably going to pass out again… Damn what did that Templar hit him with? A warhammer? His head pounded, temples pulsing and his thoughts were beginning to scramble again. How did he get here? Who was in front of him? Where was Keith?

The man in front of him stepped towards him again, the grunt he had been talking to apparently having left. The floor tilted underneath Lance and he groaned softly as he fought to stay upright and not follow the floor as it slid to the left.

Fuzzily, he watched as the Commander knelt in front of him, concern furrowing his brow. “I’m sorry for what my men did to you, but there is something very urgent that we need your help with.”

Lance glared at him, panting, sweating, and doing everything he could to remain conscious. He must look absolutely pathetic.

The Commander had a scar that spread across his nose from cheekbone to cheekbone. It looked like a slash or a burn, he couldn't tell. Then again, a lot of details were being missed with the way his head felt. Maybe it had been a sledgehammer or the blunt end of an axe. Something heavy.

“…Your power could save the world; the Inquisition can’t do this without you –”

The door slammed open again, and Lance flinched back. Then a lilting voice spoke; worry, concern, and anger lacing her words. “Shiro, what in Maker’s name did you do to this poor man?”

Shiro – the Commander – stood and turned to the woman. “I didn’t do anything, he attacked my men when they arrived.”

More footsteps and a voice with a lighter accent cut the woman off. “Your intentions may have been intended to be unhostile, Commander Shirogane, but you sent Templars after a mage – an apostate no less. Attacking your men was self-defense. Now let us tend to him.”

Commander Shiro grumbled something under his breath as the two stepped closer to Lance. The man knelt before him, gently taking his chin and raising his face. Lance had seen elves before, they were nothing new. But this one felt different, his amber eyes felt off, his features too fine to be a normal elf.

“Mm, yes, you certainly do have a concussion,” he tutted, cool fingers brushing along Lance’s forehead and back towards his ears. They pressed gently right behind them, and Lance felt the cool touch seep into his skull.

Relief rolled over him, thick and comforting, cool and soothing. He felt his shoulders drop, and his body sagged into the elf's touch. Tension leaked out of him. He must have sighed or the look on his face had to be funny with relief because the elf chuckled lightly before removing his hands.

“You should feel much better now; don’t let the Templars get another strike on you like that.”

Lance smiled a little ruefully at that, clarity finally allowing him to find his voice. “Normally they don’t, but they kicked down my door.”

“They what?” Shiro asked, shocked.

The mage looked up at the Commander, eyes narrowing. “Exactly what I said,” Lance replied, “I was tending to my potions and they kicked down my door. I’d take you to go see it but I don’t want you knowing where I live – oh, wait, you already do. Never mind, you can go see it on your own time.” He sniffed and looked away, turning his nose up.

Shiro glowered at him, taking a threatening step forward and opening his mouth to retort when the woman stepped between them. She placed a warning hand on his chest, pushing him back slightly.

“Don’t, Shiro. He’s already been injured enough.”

They glared at each other for a second before Shiro backed down and went to lean against the wall, separating himself from the three mages in the room.

The woman turned and smiled gently down at Lance. “Greetings, my name is Allura, previous Enchanter to her Empress Celene of Orlais. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“I am Lotor,” the elf in front of him added. “An apostate like yourself.”

The fancy title – or lack thereof – didn’t impress Lance; he could really care less about who these people were. They all belonged to the Inquisition and he had no interest in making friends here. (He wasn’t going to count Keith.)

“And the grump in the back is Commander Shiro; amazing,” Lance quipped. “What a generous welcoming party from the Inquisition, it makes me want to pass out again.”

All three of them frowned at Lance’s less-than-thankful response. Lance didn’t look at any of them and stared at the wall, feigning boredom. If he had any magic left in him, he would have snapped the chains by now, frozen them all in place, and walked right out the front door. But because of his scuffle with the two burly Templars at his home, he was dry as a bone. He couldn’t even summon a wisp if he wanted to.

“I believe it would be best if you hear us out,” Allura ventured. She looked to Shiro and Lotor for support.

The Commander cleared his throat and began to talk as if he were recruiting Lance, which was more than likely what they intended. "The Inquisition was called into existence due to Seeker Kogane's belief that Thedas needed saving. The war between mages and Templars is spreading, not just here in Ferelden, but in Kirkwall and in Orlais as well. Kirkwall would have been ruined had it not been for the Champion bringing peace. Before that, in Ferelden, the Hero defeated the Blight that killed King Cailin, and then disappeared once King Alistair took the throne.”

“Oh, yeah. Already heard about the Hero. Perks of being Flemeth’s and Morrigan’s neighbor.” Lance rolled his eyes.

Shiro took a deep breath, Lance could tell he was gritting his teeth and attempting not to rise to his caustic remarks. Impressive control.

"Since the disappearance of the Hero, and the Champion being occupied with rebuilding Kirkwall, the Inquisition here needs a leader."

Lance knew where this was going.

“No.”

Every single one of them blinked.

“But he hasn’t even asked anything of you yet,” Lotor tried to reason.

Lance looked at him with a bored expression, completely unfazed by their confusion. “And I know exactly what all of you want. And my answer is no.”

Allura scowled, ice gathering at her fingertips. (Great, another ice mage, as if one cool personality wasn’t enough in this valley.) “You have no idea what –”

“You’re right, I don’t know,” Lance interrupted, glaring at her as ice fogged his own breath with his sudden anger. “I don’t know what you people are doing here, what your goal is or why you even _exist_. Do you know that when you all strolled in here like you owned the place, the war between mages and Templars started up again? People are literally being evicted from their homes; taken from their livelihoods to sit here in Haven’s walls and rot where it’s safe, and you could fucking care less about it.” Lance clenched his fists, wanting so desperately to hit each of them with a bolt of reason. “This valley was at peace, had been for years before you showed up. My life was happy; their lives were uneventful. The way it should have been.”

All three of them stared in silence as Lance let loose everything.

“You claim that it was a mage’s fault that Mother what’s-her-face died at the Conclave. That mage, Amelia, was my mother. And I was there. I saw what happened, and Zarkon, that _monster_ , was no mage. My mother tried to stop what was happening, and all you ever did was blame it on her.”

Lance was ready to unleash more heated insults at all of them when the door flew open and another person stepped through.

Keith. Without his armor, his sword or his shield, and a fire blazing in his dark eyes.

“What in the fuck is going on here, Commander Shirogane?” he seethed.

Lance glared at him too, angry at the whole organization for what they had done, and what they planned to do. It wasn’t fair. Not fair to the people, not fair to him. He wanted to leave, walk out of here and never look back. He didn’t want to see any of these people again.

“Thanks for joining us, do you want the run-down too? ‘Cause it’s pretty interesting, let me tell you,” Lance said, flippantly.

Keith didn’t even spare him a glance, still tearing Shiro apart with his violent gaze alone. The Commander threw up his hands, submitted, and tried to explain the situation.

“My only order was to have the mage be brought here –”

“Oh what a load of bullshit,” Keith rolled his eyes and gestured at Lance. “He’s chained to the fucking floor, Shiro! And word around Haven is that two Templars dragged him here. How in the Maker’s mercy is that being _brought_ here?”

Shiro admittedly looked guilty at that, but his own anger sparked. “He attacked my men.”

“Only after they kicked in my door,” Lance interjected.

“You attacked him in his own home, Shiro! How does that make us any better than the mages and Templars warring in throughout the Hinterlands right now? How? This wasn’t the Inquisition I had in mind when I summoned it. The Inquisition is supposed to be a symbol of hope, inspiring people to do the right thing and find the good in their hearts. All we have done is summon more and more soldiers here to Haven, while the people practically starve and mages like him are dragged across the valley to be subjugated to this.”

Keith’s chest was heaving by the time he was done talking, fiercely pointing at where Lance was chained to the floor. Shiro wouldn’t make eye contact, and Allura and Lotor looked rather perturbed by the whole situation; they were mages too, after all.

Lance was shocked by how strongly Keith felt about making things right, he almost felt sorry for being angry - almost. Just because Keith had pure intentions doesn’t make what had happened any less wrong.

The Seeker turned to Allura. "Go find the guard that has the keys to those chains, I want him free."

Without a word, she turned and left the room.

Lance still felt a little on edge about this whole ordeal, but he felt minutely more relaxed now that Keith was here and defending him.

The room was silent until Allura walked back in, leading a guard. She waved at Lance and the man stepped forward and undid the chains. He backed away and left the room before Lance could even thank him. The mage kept his eyes on his wrists, rubbing them gently.

“Why did you need him here so urgently, Shiro? You didn’t even give me a chance to carry out your orders from last night.” Keith stood with his arms crossed, still glaring at the Commander.

Shiro sighed. “The rift at the Conclave is active. Lotor has every reason to believe that within the next few hours, something will come through. Shades and smaller demons have already appeared.”

Keith turned to look at Lotor, eyebrow raised. “Is this true?”

The elf nodded. “My trips to the fade have confirmed that there is a powerful demon heading for the rift at the Conclave. It needs a rather large door to crawl through, and that rift is exactly the opportunity that it is looking for.”

“We need a mage that can close the rifts, and the only one we know of is him,” Shiro added and nodding his head towards Lance – who had been quiet this whole time.

Lance looked up at Shiro, scrutinizing him, searching for a sign of whether he wanted to use him simply as a tool or not. Admittedly, he did look like a person that could care about Lance as a person, but he was a commander and possibly, he only saw a means to an end. Even then, once the Conclave rift was closed, it wouldn’t be the end. Zarkon was still out there, amassing followers and zealots. He wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

The Inquisition had its work cut out for it.

"And my answer is still no," Lance said. "Thanks for the offer but no thanks." His knees creaked as he stood, and multiple joints popped as Lance stretched nonchalantly. "It was a great party guy, really enjoyed being chained to the floor, but I have to head back to my little shack in the middle of the forest and fix a door that was rudely kicked in. And while the offer sounds enticing, it's not what I'm looking for in an occupation."

Lance walked to the door, no one stopping him. Lotor watched him with a critical eye, and Lance felt his hackles raise. That elf was powerful, and he felt _old_ , definitely not someone Lance would want to cross paths with. Shiro and Keith were locked in a glaring match, one which Shiro was losing. Keith’s glare was downright murderous.

He gave a twiddle of his fingers in a cheerfully fake goodbye. “Hope to see you around never! Have fun fighting off that demon.”

And with that, Lance walked right out the front door of the Chantry, not bothering to look back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> REMINDER: DO NOT REPOST THE ART FROM THIS FIC ONTO OTHER PLATFORMS.
> 
> Mogi: [TheSpace-Dragon](http://thespace-dragon.tumblr.com/)  
> Ani: [Aniscribbles](http://aniscribbles.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Art: [REBLOG THE ART HERE!](http://aniscribbles.tumblr.com/post/163835950590/taggedmyart)

**Author's Note:**

> Leave some kudos/comments! Thanks for reading!
> 
> My tumblr: [thespace-dragon](http://thespace-dragon.tumblr.com/)  
> Ani's tumblr: [aniscribbles](http://aniscribbles.tumblr.com/)  
> Art link: [please reblog it from here, DO NOT REPOST](http://aniscribbles.tumblr.com/post/158198988040/taggedmyart)
> 
> See ya next chapter, guys!! :D


End file.
